The Wayward Shadow
by PurposefulChaos
Summary: Keira is a survivor. She's spent years living off the land ever since orcs destroyed the city she once called home. One winter day, she wakes to find herself lost in a forest with no clue as to how she got there. But when her life is thrust into the hands of an Elven Prince, Keira is left with a terrible choice. Fulfill a task destined to her, or risk condemning Arda to doom.
1. Awoken

**Part One**

**Awakening**

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><p>"Oi, you! Paws off! I found 'er first!"<p>

"Shudup you slimy maggot! I ain't had no food for three days! I'm deserving of a bite of man flesh every now and then."

"Well I haven't a decent meal in four, but you know who's gonna be cross if we eat 'er without telling no one! One mouthful of spindly meat ain't worth dying for, I don't reckon."

"Eh, you're right, much as I hate to say it. Might as well continue on. Glom'll find 'er soon enough."

My head is spinning wildly as I begin to come to. Hard footfalls shake the ground beneath me as they fade away into the distance. The creatures I heard talking earlier must not deem me desirable enough for a meal. The tongue in which they spoke was a strange and garbled form of Black Speech. Their words were barely intelligible in my own ears, despite my extensive knowledge of languages. All I know is that they fill my waking self with dread. Every muscle in my body feels as if it has been dipped into the fires of Mount Doom itself. My lungs ache in protest as I draw in a deep breath. Even my eyelids feel as if they are lined with thorns, and thus it is an immense relief when I manage to open them.

Snow. That's the first thing I see. The white flakes fall daintily onto my cheeks and lashes, and I blink them away in shock. Since when did it snow on the Brown Plains?

Mustering up my strength, I use my arms to help push myself up into a sitting position. As soon as I put weight on my right arm, however, a sharp pain in my bicep moves me to let out a small gasp. I glance down at it and immediately feel a wave of nausea sweep over me when I take in the gruesome sight. A thick stream of blood is trickling lazily down my arm and onto my wrist. At its source lies a deep slash that cuts a jagged pattern into my muscle. The wound is sticky with darkened blood that has stained the surrounding skin a deep shade of cherry. The reddened fabric that was once called my sleeve now hangs limply from my arm. I shudder slightly, not wanting to know how the injury came to be.

Driven by a spasm of panic, I stumble wearily to my feet and look myself over. The rest of my cream-colored attire appears mostly intact, but as I stretch out my legs I notice that my tan boots are splattered with a strange black substance. Frowning, I bend down to get a closer look. It only takes a moment for me to inspect the thick liquid before I realize it to be tar.

"How strange," I mutter under my breath.

Where in the world am I?

My memories blur together in a dense cloud of fog; there was a fight, and a nasty one at that. I recall fending off a band of Orcs and, judging by my wound, it is my guess that one of them cut my arm with a blade or knife. A bright surge of agony strikes my brain, and I cannot delve any deeper into memories without the risk of making myself faint. Shaking my head, I satisfy myself with peering around at my surroundings.

The steady fall of snow obscures a small portion of my vision, but I can still make out that I am surrounded by a dense group of leafless trees that seem to stretch out for miles in either direction. Birds chirp happily in the naked branches above me, singing songs of the growth and new life that are to come with the spring. They are either oblivious to my existence or seem not to care that I am here.

Their soft melodies ring sweetly in my ears, and I can't help but smile as I look up at the towering treetops. Never before have I seen such natural beauty up close. The barren plains in which I live are nothing in comparison. They harbor no more than dust and decay. I take several tentative steps forward and brush my fingers against one of the frozen trunks. The bark feels cold and rough beneath my fingertips, and the shock of it sends chills racing down my spine. I suddenly feel like a child again, remembering the time when my father showed me the woods of Lothlorien. It was during a winter such as this, when the sky was hazed with rolling clouds, and the wolves of the North had moved on to other lands. I recall him lifting me onto his shoulders so that I could catch a glimpse of the massive forest to the west of us.

_The Elves live there, don't they father? _I had asked him. _Wouldn't we be able to say hello to them? I have always wanted to meet an Elf. They seem so wonderful._

_The Elves of Lothlorien are not as welcoming to Men as they once were, my dear, _he replied in a solemn tone. _It is a shame how trust can be lost so easily. The Elves are indeed a wonderful folk: perhaps we shall one day rekindle the friendship that was once shared between our races. _My father sighed as I clutched onto his shoulders, craning my head out towards the magnificent wood.

_I look forward to when we can, _I exclaimed happily, my youthful mind open to the idea of befriending Lothlorien Elves, or any other Elves for that matter. I had always admired them greatly.

The vision from the past is so vivid that I have to shake my head to be rid of it. My father taught me to never dwell on what has already been said and done. For it is the future that we are able to change, not our memories.

I turn my attention to the tree before me and briefly consider climbing it. Perhaps I might be able to get an idea of where I am from a higher vantage point. I ponder for a moment, absentmindedly knawing on the inside of my cheek. But just when I am about to grip onto the branch closest to me, I hear it.

A howl. It is a terrible, jarring thing that sends waves of fear coursing through my veins. My eyes widen, and I whirl around to press my back against the trunk. Clutching my injured shoulder, I barely contain a scream of terror as an enormous Warg bounds out from behind a large pine. Its brown fur is covered in drifts of snow, which it shakes off in agitation. I notice then that atop the beast sits a hideous creature with a wrinkled grey face and a sword in its hand. Only one word comes to my mind that could possibly identify the monster. It is an Orc. This one is much bigger than any of the others I have faced.

_Stop it, stop frightening yourself! You have to get out of this…. Think!_

"Ah, so the human has awoken," garbles the Orc in common tongue. The Warg growls menacingly. "It would've been better if you would've never woken at all, filth. Orcs love fresh meat."

My hands tremble, but I force myself to reply. "I see. Well, I hope you don't mind me asking, but where am I?"

The Orc's grizzled brow furrows, and the wolf snarls and flexes its claws. Saliva drips from its slavering jowls. I grimace as I imagine its yellowed fangs sinking into my flesh.

"Lost, are we?" the Orc scoffs.

"I'm afraid so," I reply, desperately trying to hide the waver in my voice. "But if I am going to be eaten, then I would like to die knowing where I am. Now if you please, where, in fact, am I?"

"You're in a forest, you miserable maggot!"

Orcs. Their brain seems to decrease the larger they get.

"Pray, do be specific." I spread out my arms. "This is, after all, a rather large country!"

A terrible sneer comes upon the Orc's face as he draws a second, rather evil looking sword from his belt. As if one sword wasn't enough to kill me. I am badly wounded and, much to my dismay, utterly defenseless.

"You are near the borders of Mirkwood, if you must know." The Warg kneads the frozen ground eagerly as its master clicks his teeth together. The Orc's black eyes glint with malice as he continues. "And you have just been unlucky enough to be found by several of my scouts." He leaps off of the Warg and begins to advance towards me, swords in both hands.

"Am I, now?" I ask nervously, slowly inching my way around the tree as the monster advances. "Well I wouldn't necessarily consider myself unlucky if this is the case. You see, there is a very lovely race of people that lives near here who would not hesitate to skewer you right through your filthy black heart. Do you know who I speak of, monster?"

"Do not speak of the treacherous elves to me, scum!" The creature roars and lunges. I just manage to duck as the a sword nearly separates my head from my shoulders.

"Who said I was talking about elves?" I say, dodging a vicious swipe to my stomach. "I could have been talking about mountain trolls! You do seem to have a rather large number of enemies, from what I've heard." Another swipe, this time closer, and the tip of the sword nicks my right eyebrow. I recoil in shock as blood dribbles down into my eye, blinding me momentarily. I try desperately to blink the red substance away, and my vision clears just enough for me to see the butt of the sword swinging down towards my head. It hits me hard in the temple, knocking me to the ground. My back slams against the trunk of a frozen tree, and I gasp in pain.

Dizzy and wounded, I watch as the Orc casts aside his first sword and clutches the second blade with both hands. The fight must have gone easier than he expected. The beast raises the weapon above his head, preparing to decapitate me. I frantically claw at the earth surrounding my wounded form, desperately searching for any means to fend off the blow. Then, just as the Orc brings the blade screaming down towards my face, my fingers brush against something hard and cold. I grasp the object and thrust it towards the descending blade.

A shower of sparks rains down on me as the weapon collides with the stone in my hand. The sword glances off of it and embeds itself deeply into the tree trunk beside me. The Orc let out a howl of annoyance as he tugs against the hilt, attempting to rip the weapon from the thick wood. As the creature struggles to free the blade, I spy a small throwing dagger tucked into his belt. Seeing my chance, I lash out and manage to snag the weapon. The Orc seems not to notice as he finally yanks the sword free and glowers down upon me.

"You thought you could beat me," he sneers mockingly. "You thought you could win."

I will myself to ignore his taunting, but something in the Orc's tone surfaces an emotion within me that I have not felt in a very long time.

Rage; pure, blind rage.

My tired expression contorts into something much more menacing, and I feel strength return to my muscles. As the Orc brings down its sword once more, I raise up my hand and throw the knife. The weapon hurdles through the air before finding its mark, sinking deep into the exposed flesh of the Orc's throat. The grey creature lets out a surprised gurgle as it looks down at the blade protruding from its neck. A semi-hysterical smile curls at my lips as the foul beast stumbles back several steps. This is a short delay before the Orc collapses to his knees, then falls face-first into the snow. I let out a strained gasp. The creature is dead.

However, my fight is not over yet.

The brown Warg, having patiently watched the fight between me and its master unfold, steps forward and bends down to sniff the fallen Orc. It wrinkles its enormous nose in distaste before turning to look at me, fangs bared. It starts to advance. A sick sense of humor twists in my mind, and I laugh once. Just my luck. Not only did I have to kill the Orc, but now it's Warg wants in on the action.

However, despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the battle with the Orc has done nothing but weaken me further. I have no way to stop myself as I roll over onto my side, wheezing painfully in the frosty air.

_No, Keira. Get up, _echoes a voice from somewhere in my being. _Get up and fight._

But my muscles have done all they can. As I lay bleeding on the ground, I hear the heavy tread of the wolf as it advances towards me. I glance upwards, hardly surprised when I find its face looking down upon me. Its dark eyes shine bright with anger, but I feel no fear as I gaze up into them. I have had much experience with eyes such as these. They do not faze me as they once did.

I cringe as black saliva drips from the Warg's fangs and down onto my cheek. Hot breath pants against my face. _So this is the end, _I think to myself. _This is how I will die._ I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for my throat to be torn open.

Suddenly, the sharp blast of a horn cuts through the frozen air. It is a clear and beautiful sound, unlike the ugly screeching of those made by Orcs and Goblins. My eyes fly open, and the Warg tenses and growls. It knows just as well as I that the sound is not the bugle of its masters. The wolf lets out an angry yowl and steps back off of me, hackles raised. When it glances down at me again, and I note that its eyes are filled with something other than anger. Fear.

I lean up into a sitting position, using my good arm to steady myself as the world seems to careen out of control. I blink rapidly in order to focus my vision. A large lump from where the Orc hit me with the sword throbs on my temple, and the wound has made me horribly dizzy. It takes all the strength I have not to collapse once more. But somehow, even in my injured state, the horn blast had given me hope that all is not yet lost. That maybe, just maybe, I can get out of this alive. I have been thrust into hazardous situations before-granted, none of them remotely similar to this one-and survived. How is this any different?

Gathering up enough courage I can muster, I speak.

"Warg of the Dark Lands," I say in a rough form of Black Speech, similar to the strain spoken by the Orcs. "Beast born of the Fires of Mordor. You have been raised a slave of the evil which inhabits your land." The wolf recoils with a snarl as if my words have physically struck it.

"I can help you," I continue. "We can help each other. I have freed you from your service of the Orc. Can you not return the favor by letting me live? Go now, spare the one who as saved you, and live a free life." The Warg cocks its head and takes a step forward.

"I speak no lie. Go now, while you still can."

The creature continues to slink towards me, but it now appears curious more than anything. After all, it's not every day that its prey can speak to it. I extend my arm out and point towards the forest.

"Go," I command. My palms have grown dank in my nervousness. Sweat begins to drip from my hand, stinging the sword wound. The Warg does not pay me heed, and terror courses through my veins when I hear the low growl emanating from within its throat. The beast is so close to me that I now notice the thin white scars decorating the bridge of its nose. The look of malice tucked away beneath its narrowed eyes.

Then, before I even have time to react, the Warg lunges.

I yank my arm back just in the nick of time, and there is a painful crack as powerful jaws close on nothing but free air. The Warg bristles in agitation. I stumble over to the side, half-crawling, half-walking around the width of the tree. Anything to get away from the creature. Fear and adrenaline are the only things moving my limbs, along with the blind hope that I might be able to escape.

The Warg seems to have other ideas.

Its hackles are raised to their full height as it advances towards me, massive paws crunching over the frozen ground. Despite the adrenaline coursing through me, I am only able to retreat a foot or so away before my back collides with yet another obstacle. I glance over my shoulder to find a massive tree trunk, far bigger than the one before, blocking my path. Dread sweeps over me when I realize that I might not be able to get around it in time. With a cringe of horror, I realize that I am as good as dead. Fatigue finally sets in as I slump against the tree, reluctantly accepting my defeat as the Warg prowls towards me. Its tongue passes over its lips; the scent of blood must smell irresistible. I feel sick when I imagine what will be left of me when the creature has had its fill.

It is in that moment when my gaze flickers to something long and dark lying several feet next to me. I turn my head towards the object and narrow my eyes, willing my vision to swim back into focus. When it finally clears, I realize with a start that the dark smudge is one of the Orc blades. I vaguely remember the beast casting it aside as it prepared to slay me.

Heavy blood loss has made me dizzy and light-headed, but even in my convoluted state I am able to realize that the sword might be the only chance I have of survival. I blink several times before stretching my arm out towards it. My fingers barely brush the hilt.

_Just… a little… farther…_

Another horn blast, this one closer and louder, but I don't think anything of it. The Warg, however, seems to know something I don't. It glances nervously out into the forest before whipping its head back round to face me. Its muscles tense and then, eyes glittering savagely, the beast lunges for my throat. Its jaws are inches from severing my head when I hear something whiz through the air, followed closely by a dull thud as it impacts the Warg.

The creature lets out a terrible scream as it falls backwards off of me. My eyes widen with shock when I see the long feathered arrow protruding from the beast's side. The Warg writhes in pain, but its agony appears to be short lived, for hardly a moment has passed before the creature charges towards me once more. It is halted by an arrow to the neck. The wolf freezes in place, jaws agape, beady eyes pinched with hatred, before collapsing to the ground. A gurgling noise rises up from the beast's throat as a wave of blood spills out from the between gaps in its fangs, staining the ground beneath it an unpleasant shade of crimson. A racking spasm shakes the Warg's body once, twice, and then thrice before alas, the dying beast goes still.

The stunned silence that ensues is long and dragging. The birds that I once heard singing happily in the trees above have gone quiet. The only sound that remains is that of my heartbeat drumming in my ears. I look around, searching for any signs of life. The arrows had to some from somewhere! Then I hear it. A low, rustling sound, like the quick footfalls of some sort of animal. I frown slightly and reach for the sword.

"Do not move."

The deep voice startles me, and I jump, cringing as my wounded shoulder protests against the sharp moment. I whip my head to the side and let out a small shriek.

Six figures clad in forest green attire stand several feet away from me, longbows in hand. Each has an arrow knocked and pointing at me. I cannot make out their faces, for they are shadowed by the hoods that hang down over their foreheads, but there is an air about them that demands respect.

"Who are you?" asks the one closest to me. A puff of hot air emanating from inside the hood gives away the speaker.

"You have my thanks," I state quickly, his question having fallen on deaf ears. "I presume that it was you who killed the Warg?"

"I asked for your name, not for your formalities." A distinct accent is threaded into his words, though is not of any like I have heard before.

"Forgive me," I say, clearing my throat awkwardly. "I am Kiera, daughter of Byron, Lord of Brunsfarrow. I hail from..." My voice cracks, and I trail off, overcome by sorrowful thoughts. The steel arrow tips gleam dangerously in the light of the winter sun. I blink nervously. "From where I hail is not important. Let me assure you that I mean you all no harm, whoever you may be."

The person closest to me hesitates a moment before lowering their bow. The others quickly follow suit but keep the weapons held ready at their sides. The lithe figure then steps towards me, as if to introduce himself, when a sharp whinny cuts him off. I instinctively turn towards the sound and watch as a fast-moving shape appears on the horizon. It takes me only a matter of seconds to identify the creature.

A magnificent white stallion gallops towards us, weaving agilely through the gaps in the trees. It leaps swiftly over a tree root protruding out from the forest floor, muscles rippling beneath its glistening coat. Never before have I seen a horse move at such break-neck speeds, and through a dangerous terrain, nonetheless. The swift creature is upon us in a matter of moments, much to my utter amazement, and comes to a stop several feet in front of me. The animal rears up and lets out a squeal of fright upon noticing the body of the Warg, and it is then when I notice that the horse bears a rider. He is shrouded in a midnight blue cloak, and I watch as he leans forward to whisper something inaudible into the animal's ear. It takes a few moments, but the horse eventually calms enough to come to rest on all fours. The rider strokes the creature's neck soothingly before unclasping the front of the cloak and allowing it to fall from his shoulders.

My jaw goes slack.

The face I am met with is fair and smooth, framed by high cheekbones and dark eyebrows sparsely flecked with gold. Blue eyes, gleaming like the palest of sapphires, rest beneath them. I find myself just as drawn into them as a moth is towards a light. An ageless wisdom seems to be buried within their mesmerizing depths, and beneath that a history that I cannot even begin to uncover.

The stranger's lips are pursed into a thin line as he angles his chin upward, finally acknowledging my presence. A sudden gust of wind furls through the air, ruffling the long, white-gold hair that drapes loosely over his shoulders. Several strands blow into his face, revealing two small braids that adorn his temples. Pointed ear tips peak out from beneath them, and it is that moment that I realize who the man really is.

He is an Elf. Immortal, powerful, the fairest and wisest of all beings. Even in my delusional state, his very presence seems to have lulled me into a sort of trance. I sit in a stupid silence as I gape up at him, eyes bulging in shock.

I do not lie when I say that the sight of such an ethereal being renders me speechless.

"You're… an Elf," I manage to stammer out.

_As if that weren't obvious, _I think to myself. My cheeks flush with embarrassment as the Elf gives me a strange look. I try to put on a friendly smile, but it ends up coming across as a lop-sided grin.

"I am," he replies calmly. His gaze is steady and unwavering. "And you are young girl who I suspect to be very, very lost. Am I correct, or have you intentionally meant to infiltrate our realm?"

"Well, it's just—I was-" I silence myself as the words jumble together. The Elf tilts his head; somehow, he makes even that tiny movement look graceful. I shake my head at my own idiocy and sigh heavily. "I'm sorry, it's just… I've been through quite a bit in the small amount of time I have regained consciousness. It's been a very—_intriguing _experience, being I don't even know how I ended up here in the first place."

"Has it now?" the Elf states, raising a graceful eyebrow. "I can only imagine. Do you mean to say that you have no memory of how you came to be here?"

"In a way, yes," I tell him. "I can only remember bits and pieces, but as far as I know, something brought me here. Who, and for what reason, I do not know. I am sorry I cannot tell you more."

The Elf is silent for a moment as he ponders over my words.

"I assume that you were the one who killed the Orc?" he asks me suddenly, gesturing to the creature's corpse.

"Yes," I reply uneasily. "And they-" I nod to the six other figures who, judging by their similar accents, I presume are also Elves. "—felled the Warg."

"As I can see." The stranger turns to them, speaking now in Elvish. "Ellisar, alert the patrols and search the area. Where there is one Orc, there are bound to be plenty more. Report your findings back to me, and do not stay out past nightfall. Far worse things lurk in the forest under the cover of darkness."

"Yes, my lord," say one of the Elves, bowing deeply. "We shall not linger for long. But if I may, what do you wish to do with her?" He gestures in my direction.

The blonde Elf glances sharply at me before replying.

"We shall see."

Then, just as quickly as they came, the Wood-elves vanish into the depths of the forest. I watch the group melt into the shadows with a heavy heart, wondering what horrors they might face ahead of them. Having a good knowledge of the language of the Eldar, especially the Sindarin strain, I understood most of the short conversation between the two. Why would he send them away so quickly? He cannot possibly trust me already… can he?

"You are wounded."

The Elf's words disrupt my thoughts. When I look back at him, I am surprised to find that his gaze lies elsewhere from my eyes. I follow his eyes to find that he is staring intently at my hand. The blade seems to have somehow grazed my palm, for there is a jagged red line cutting a path through the skin. Blood has begun to pool up in my hand. It trickles down my wrist in a pand onto the snow beneath.

"Sword wound," I say blandly. "It was either that or a swift beheading. I favored the first option."

"And your shoulder?" he asks. His tone is not sympathetic; he seems to be more curious than anything. I shrug before leaning my head back against the tree.

"I don't know; I probably cut myself on a branch. It is not unlike me to do stupid things of the sort." My last sentence was a vain attempt at humor.

"I doubt that very much."

I let out a slightly hysterical laugh as my vision blurs around the edges. I hadn't realized it until now, but I am beginning to lose my grip on reality. That being said, I hardly notice when my back muscles give out, and I slump over onto the ground. The snow bites into the side of my face with cold and steely fangs. Black specks dance before my eyes. I am so close, so close to being free of the pain. The forest seems to morph into an endless black tunnel. Branches swirl together to create an impenetrable wall of nothing. A sliver of light gleams at the end of it. I chase after the glowing speck, but the light seems only to grow smaller the more I struggle to reach it.

Just as I finally give in to the darkness enclosing me, I feel something soft and warm press against the side of my face.

_Do not succumb to the darkness. Come back to the light. _

Then there is nothing.


	2. Confined

**Author's note**: Hey guys! Thanks for sticking around to read the second chapter! I COMPLETELY forgot about writing an 'author's note' in the last chapter (oops!). Welp, I hope this sort of makes up for it. And before I forget, the events of this Fanfiction occur somewhere in between what occurs of the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings. Just thought I should mention that in case any of y'all were wondering. Hope you like Chapter 2, and feel free to leave reviews! Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own LotR, as much as it pains me to admit it. Ugh, to have Tolkien's imagination.<strong>

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><p>The darkness welcomes me with open arms. It is an escape from the pain and suffering of reality, and as I drift aimlessly through the black, I feel like I might be able to stay this way forever... in this state of peaceful quiet. At the same time, a part of me is resistant to the seduction of this strange new world. It screams out for me to fight the darkness, to choose life over spending my days adrift in the endless black. At first I am reluctant to leave, but then I hear something that moves me to think otherwise. The sound of softly whispered words, a recent memory, echoing through space and time before reaching my weary ears.<p>

_"Do not give in. Fight the darkness and return to the light."_

I know that voice. Stirring slightly, I will myself to wake from the strange dream. The darkness is resistant to let me leave, and for a moment I feel as though its suffocating walls might crush me. But, after a struggle that seems to last for an age, I finally manage to break through.

My eyes flutter open and I blink away the haziness of sleep. I start slightly upon noticing that I am no longer in a snow-covered forest and that there is not an endless blue sky stretching out above me. Instead, I am left staring up at a dark ceiling that seems to be made out of some sort of rock. Minute stalactites have sprouted out from it over time and now drip with moisture. A particularly large droplet of water splashes down onto my cheek, and I wrinkle my nose indignantly before raising up a hand to blot it off.

I slowly raise myself into a sitting position and take a quick overview of my whereabouts. The room, if I dare call it that, is so tiny that I can hardly stretch out my legs without becoming cramped. Walls enclose me from all sides, one of them being an enormous iron gate. The metal glints coldly in the flickering light of the lanterns lining the walls beside it, and I feel an enormous wave of anger wash over me.

_I'm in a _dungeon? _You have got to be joking!_

Blood boiling, I look down at myself and find that I am wearing the same garments, though they are no longer stained with splatters of mud and smears of blood. The cream-colored fabric is now flawless and seems to glow anew. When I glance over to my shoulder I discover that the torn sleeve has been mended. However, a small lump bulges up from beneath the fabric. I pull up my sleeve to investigate and find the cause of it to be a thick bandage that is wrapped tightly around my injured bicep. The wound underneath still stings, but the pain is mild compared to the immense throbbing in my head. Blinking slowly, I slide a hand up the side of my face and flinch when my fingers meet with an enormous knot protruding from my temple. The term 'headache' is an understatement as a blinding pain spreads out from the point of contact and all across my forehead. I gasp hoarsely and press my palm into my forehead, willing the agony to subside. It eventually does, but I am left sweaty and trembling from stress.

"There's always something," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head before rising to my feet. A pair of slippers account as my footwear, and I shiver when the cold of the stone floor seeps right through the thin fabric. Not only do they—whoever 'they' may be—lock me in their dungeons, but they took away my beloved boots as well? Annoyance creeping in, I stride briefly over to the gate and grip onto the bars with both hands. I squeeze my face through a gap in an attempt to make out where exactly I am.

The cell in which I am locked in is resting upon the edge of a sheer drop. My stomach flutters just thinking about anything related to heights, and I quickly turn my attention somewhere else. A thin pathway arches around the outside of the gate and branches out into a staircase that spirals upwards into a winding bridge above me. The structure spans the entire length of the chasm before dipping down and connecting with the far wall, which is lined with dungeon cells similar to the one I am in.

Speaking of bridges, I notice through wide eyes that the place is filled to the brim with them. They stretch out below me like massive vines, curving and twisting before attaching to the walls or each other. A roaring sound has begun to fill me ears as I gape at the structures, and I look down even further to find that the so called chasm is instead a massive waterway. Foaming rapids cascade down through a tunnel curving out from the left before settling down into a more peaceful turbulence as they flow downstream.

_I wonder where that leads to, _I think absentmindedly. That is when I notice the dark shapes bobbing up and down in the waters. I squint as I try to make out the objects in the dim light, but they disappear into the shadows before I can identify them.

Sighing tiredly, I am just about to turn back to my gloomy cell when the sound of footsteps captures my attention. Peering through the gate once more, I watch in nervous excitement as two figures appear out of a dark archway on the far wall. They walk out onto a bridge extending out towards my cells, and I can barely make out their words.

"…they grow more in numbers every day then we would in a century. Their boldness increases with their population; never before would an Orc dare to venture this far into our realm."

"I agree. You are not the only one having brought the matter to my attention. The dawn patrol recently reported having heard strange whispering among the trees; they claim that the creatures spoke as if they were afraid of something. Though what that something is, whether it be Orcs or something far more menacing, I have yet to know of."

"Nor I." As they near, one of the figures glances briefly in my direction. I crouch down as to be hidden in the looming shadow of the gate. Being caught snooping in on what sounds to be an important conversation would not be the best first impression for my captors.

Especially when said captors are speaking in Elvish.

"Have you checked on her lately?" says the same voice in a hushed whisper. The figure extends out an arm to point at me.

_No, not at me, _I correct myself. _At the cell. They can't see _me.

"Not since sunrise, though I have been told that she has yet to wake from her deep slumber. She was badly wounded, I recall. It has been rumored that the she might never wake at all."

"I do hope that does not come to be true. I would rather like to hear the story she has to tell; the Prince said that she claimed to have no memory of arriving in Mirkwood."

The Prince? As in _the _Elven Prince of Mirkwood? I am so flabbergasted that I begin to feel light-headed. Since when did the Prince know about my...

"My friend, I believe the girl has awoken."

A strange cold sensation races down my spine as the figures come closer and closer towards me. They see that I am awake. What will they do?

One of the Elves steps up the gate and looks down at my cowering form. He towers over me, his silhouette dark and looming, though his gaze is far from menacing. Not wanting to seem any weaker than I already am, I quickly stand up to my full height,

"I see you have awoken," he says in common tongue. "How do you fair?"

"I feel better than I did," I answer with polite honesty. "I appreciate your concern, though I do not quite understand why I am locked in the dungeons like a criminal. Have I done something to offend you?"

"Goodness, no! Far from it, actually. I pray you will forgive us for your unpleasant accommodations. The King is wary of outsiders, and for good reason. The forest is not like it once was. Dangerous things lurk in its depths, and though I certainly do not think you to be one of them, it is always good to be careful."

I nod my understanding, and the Elf smiles brightly.

"Now," he says, turning to his companion. "The young lady seems deserving of a walk, if I do say so myself. She has been cooped up long enough." The dark-haired Elf behind him gives a curt nod before pulling something from his tunic pocket. A low clattering sound gives away the identity of the object, and my eyes light up when I find it to be a key ring. He steps forward and, fingering through several keys, singles one out. He slips it into the gate lock and turns it sharply to the right. The gate gives a low moan before swinging ajar. The first Elf pulls it open before gesturing for me to step out. I swallow hard as I glance down at the sheer drop several steps in front of me, but nevertheless do as he says.

My footsteps are harsh compared to the light footfalls of the Elves, but I try to ignore the fact as I stride purposefully out of my cell. The raging rapids beneath me seem hiss out taunts as the gate closes with a snap behind me. They are eagerly willing me to stumble and fall down into their murky depths, never to surface again. Droplets of sweat break out across my forehead. I may be able to face Orcs and Wargs, but heights are a whole different story. I have always been terrified of cliffs and other tall places to the point of fault.

The Elves, or at least one of them, seems to sense my distress and glances at me sympathetically. His almond-shaped green eyes are kind, and I allow myself to become lost in them for a moment.

"Are you frightened?" he asks me softly. The rigidness of my stance must be enough of an answer for him, because he reaches out and takes my forearm in a large hand. "You need not be. Follow close to me, and I will not let you fall." I nod stiffly. The Elf's shimmering silvery hair seems to glow transcendently, mesmerizing me for a moment. Candlelight flickers across his face, turning his cheeks a warm auburn. He smiles at me before releasing my arm. Turning from me momentarily, he then leans in to whisper something in dark-haired Elf's ear. Then, after a short exchange of words, they appear to reach an agreement and nod to each other. The second Elf then casts a glance at me, dips his head, and then hurries off towards the staircase to my right and disappearing around the bend. My gaze follows his retreating form for a moment before flickering back to the remaining Elf. I raise my brows.

"I sent him to alert the King of your wakening," he tells me, as if reading my thoughts. "We have been given orders to escort you to his court for questioning. He is eager to learn of the reason you are here." The Elf studies me a moment before continuing. "As am I. Come now; we best not keep him waiting, and I'm sure you could use a good walk to warm your aching muscles." I give him a half-smile, the best I can do at the moment. He extends an elbow, and I loop my arm around it gratefully as he begins to lead me across the bridge from which he came. His form is elegant and smooth as he walks, whereas mine is stiff and slightly hunched. Images of the bridge collapsing beneath me have begun to creep into the dark corners of my mind. Would I die from the fall, or would I survive only to be drowned by the powerful river beneath? I shudder at the thought, keeping a firm hold of the Elf's arm.

As we walk in silence, I distract myself from the sheer drop by thinking about the Elven king. What will he look like? Will he believe the story I have to tell, or will I be thrown back into the dungeons as a liar?

My father had once mentioned to me that Mirkwood's King-Thranduil, I recall, was his name-was a very lithe and tall fellow, with pale features and eyes as grey as a winter storm. He was imposing and cold at times, yes, but never foolish. He wished only to protect his people and would do whatever it took to keep them, and his only son, safe. Other kingdoms did not concern him; he looked out for the Woodland Realm, nothing more.

"Tell me, what is your name?"

The Elf's words startle me from my thoughts, and I turn to find him gazing down upon me.

"Keira," I say lowly.

"Well met, Keira," he says, dipping his head. Not knowing what to do, I return the gesture awkwardly. "I am Taluharn of the Elven guard. From where do you hail?"

"I..." Heart pounding, I give him a quick shake of my head. Questions of that sort should be answered to the King, and to him alone. Taluharn gives me a curious look before promptly changing the subject.

"Your name... what meaning does it have among your people?"

His question catches me off guard, and I raise an eyebrow before answering.

"It means 'dark-haired'. My father thought it had a nice ring to it, but I personally think he picked it partially because of its meaning." The Elf's gaze travels down to the tangled ebony curls that rest on my shoulders, and then to the rounded ears peeking out from beneath then. He does not comment. "Some prefer to call me Vera," I say quickly. "It means 'faith'. They think it sounds better, I guess; more exotic."

"I think both suit you quite well," Taluharn says finally, looking me in the eye. "Which do you prefer to be called by?"

"I have no preference," I state blandly. "People could call me Mud or Dirt for all I care; such names might suit me better, even."

"Do not speak so lowly of yourself. I have only known you for a few minutes, yet you already seem perfectly respectable." His kind words give warmth to my saddened heart, and I smile up at him gratefully.

"Thank you, Taluharn." He nods to me before turning to look ahead of him.

We walk on in a thick silence. I look down at my feet as he leads me around a sharp curve, nausea sweeping over me. _Don't slip, don't slip. _

"You can relax now, Kiera. We are off the bridge."

My head snaps up and I let out a sigh of relief. Taluharn has, in fact, led me off the bridge. He strides lithely through the archway, me in tow, we now make our way into a dimly lit tunnel.

The hall is very narrow, and several arches leading into separate corridors line the walls. Taluharn slips his arm from mine in order for us to walk single file. The tunnel's sides seem to be slowly closing in on us, and I begin to feel horribly claustrophobic. Without the pleasant warmth of Taluharn's body beside mine, I feel strangely exposed. His presence comforted me, and having been away from other people for so long, I find myself wanting to seek him out again. The tunnel isn't as dank as the cell I was in, but it is just as dark, and the Taluharn's golden hair is all that is visible as he strides ahead of me. My heart begins to race as I imagine being left alone in the dark once more, even if it was unintentional. I am only human; my legs cannot quite keep up with him.

"Taluharn, wait up…"

I don't see the dark figure approach from the archway. My mind is so preoccupied to catching the fast-paced Elf that I don't notice the person step out in front of me until it is too late.

My forehead collides with something hard, and I let out a yelp of surprised. Stumbling back several steps, I nearly trip over my own clumsy feet when I notice the ominous silhouette. The figure takes a step towards me, and my eyes widen when I see the object clutched in his hand. It is a lighted torch, its flames flickering madly in the dreary light. The person slowly raises the object, allowing it to illuminate his face.

"Forgive me, I did not see you there."

The torch light glows upon the Elf's shimmering golden hair, very unlike the silvery color of Taluharn's, but familiar all the same. He extends a hand to help me up, I am just about to reach up and take it when something in his bright blue eyes lights up. Mine also bug slightly when I begin to recognize him. The Elf squints at me before raising his eyebrows slightly; he recognizes me.

"I see you have awoken," he tells me softly, leaning forward and curling his fingers around my wrist. I in turn wrap mine around his forearm as he hoists me to my feet.

"Kiera, are you—oh." Taluharn appears from down the hall as he begins to make his way towards me. Upon noticing that I am not alone, he stops in his tracks. The blonde Elf turns around to face him, and the flames licking off the torch glint in the whites of Taluharn's eyes.

"My liege," he stammers, bowing deeply.

_My liege?_

"Well met, Taluharn," the Elf says smoothly. "Where are you planning on taking her?" He nods in my direction, deep blue eyes questioning.

"The King has requested that she be taken to him as soon as she has woken. He wishes to speak to her of-"

"I know quite well what he wishes," snaps the blonde Elf. The venom in his tone surprises me. "She needs time to recover. You of all people should know this, after the most recent battle with the Orc pack."

The silver-haired Elf shudders, as if recalling an unpleasant memory, before straightening.

"I was only doing what the King ordered, my lord."

"I appreciate that, and I'm sure the King does also, but the girl cannot be expected to recover from such a wound in the matter of a day. She needs time to heal before we take her to my father. We do not need her fainting from lack of rest in the presence of Thranduil. I cannot imagine that he would appreciate it any more than I would."

_His FATHER?_

Taluharn opens his mouth to say more, but judging by the look the Elf shoots him, it is no surprise to me when he closes it without a word.

"As you wish," he says, bowing once more, though the motion seems stiffer this time. "I shall alert the King at once." The blond Elf's features seem to relax slightly, and he dips his head at Taluharn. The guard's gaze flickers to me before quickly dancing away, and he turns on heel before melting into the depths of the hallway.

The silence following Taluharn's leave does not last long.

"I don't believe I know your name," states the Elf. His cobalt gaze is intense, and I resist the impulse to shy away.

"Keira," I say quietly. The Elf blinks with surprise, almost as if he didn't expect me to answer. He seems to catch a glimpse of my anxious expression, and a smile twists at the corners of his lips.

"Keira," he says. "It has a very nice ring to it."

_Did he just complement me?_

The Elf gives a graceful bow before continuing.

"I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm."

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><p><strong>Well, there you have it! Ta-da! I know it's not quite as long as Chapter 1, but Chapter 3 should hopefully be long enough to make up for it. Speaking of Chap. 3, I hope to have it up and running sometime within this week. I hate making you guys wait! As I mentioned before, feel free to review. I love hearing from you guys!<strong>


	3. The Prince

Author's note:_ Chapter 3 is finally done! *confetti* Hope you guys like it! ENJOY! _

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I still do not own the Lord of the Rings or any of its characters, save Keira, Taluharn, and a couple others. <strong>

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><p>"<em>Prince<em>?"

I am hardly able to squeak out the word. Can this Elf really be the famed son of Thranduil?

Legolas tilts his head to the side, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He's amused at my reaction, and I scold myself for behaving so immaturely. I clear my throat before clasping my hands together in front of me.

"Apologies," I say, my voice wavering. "It is just... not every day that I get to meet the famed Prince Legolas. I've heard a lot about you, from my father especially. He always told me stories of how you and your father fought bravely in the Battle of the Five Armies." Somehow, my words seem to wound him. His expression becomes stoic, and all traces of humor leave his eyes.

My lips purse together as I frown at his darkened features. I don't recall having said something to offend him, but then again, he is an Elf. Perhaps all of them are this... sensitive.

"Forgive me," I say. "If I offended you, it was not my intention."

The Prince's eyes bore deeply into mine, and I swallow hard. His expression is so unreadable that it frightens me. What _did _I do to cause such a drastic mood swing? Moments ago we seemed on friendly terms, but now… I'm not sure.

The Prince's features remain unmoving for a long moment, and I am about to speak up when he beats me to it.

"It is not your place to speak of such a dark time," the Elf says suddenly, eyes blazing with blue flames. "Some things are better left unspoken."

"Forgive me," I say once more, my voice a hushed whisper. "Perhaps it is better if I do not speak at all."

Legolas frowns. "I did not say that." He then turns and begins to walk down the hall. "Come with me, and let us be free of this darkness. I will lead you to the sunlight."

His words bring back a hazy memory from when I lay bleeding in the forest. It is foggy and distant, but I distinctly remember the gentle words being spoken into my ear.

_Do not succumb to the darkness. Come back to the light. _

It was him! He was the one who spoke to me, who brought me out from the darkness. All along, it was him who saved me.

My heart hammers inside of my chest at the realization, and I cannot stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.

"It was you," I breathe. Legolas freezes mid stride and looks over his shoulder. My mouth has fallen agape in my amazement, and my eyes feel as wide as saucers.

"I knew it. You were the one who spoke to me. You brought me back from near death. I would've died if not for you." A knowing look flickers across his expression before quickly fading away.

"Yes," he states dryly. "It was I, but the past is not my concern. Dwelling in it can only bring pain." He closes his eyes momentarily, and I am shocked to see the grief etched into his features.

"I know," I say slowly. "I tell that to myself often. I just thought that I should mention-"

Legolas has already begun to walk forward as I speak, and my words appear to be falling on deaf ears. I shut my mouth with a snap before hurrying after him.

Something must have happened to him. Long ago, I guess. An old wound that I appear to have unintentionally reopened.

As I trail behind him, I sadly observe the hunched posture of his body. His shoulders are shrugged forward, his head bowed slightly. Even the heavy darkness cannot mask the misery weighing down upon his form.

A thought dawns on me then. Looking at the Elf is like looking upon my own reflection from several years past. I walked like that at one time; that was how I coped with…Loss.

Loss. An enormous, ugly monster that haunts your dreams and darkens your days. I am all too familiar with the beast; it still chases after me, even after all the years I have tried to evade it. It took me months to realize that loss cannot be escaped, but instead faced head on. You have to battle with it for as long as you live.

And for a long, bitter decade I have warred with the death of my father.

Byron Whitam. I wish—I long—for him to still be here. To sing his glorious songs to me like he did when I was a girl; just one verse would be enough to numb the pain.

But he is not here to do so, and that realization pierces through me like a spear. Perhaps if I had not seen him that dreaded day, the agony might be easier to deal with.

Only I did see him.

I saw his unmoving body, riddled with Orc arrows, being carted into the square. Only moments earlier I had been fighting my way to front of the crowd, anxiously awaiting my father's return. I did not know that my efforts had, instead, granted me a clear view of the bodies.

Never will I forget the stoic faces of the guards as they lifted his bulky form from the cart and rolled it onto the ground beside the bodies of five other men. The reeking smell of the corpses as they festered in the heat of the sun had filled my nostrils like thick sludge. Families had gathered around the bodies, sobbing and retching with the horror of it all.

But I did not weep, not a single tear, as I watched his body's blood dry on the ground. While he still lived, my father had taught me that such acts of grief would not arouse the dead. They were simply a waste of time.

Instead, it was anger that broiled in my blood as I watched my own people jostle his paled body, attempting to shake life back into it. It enraged me that the fools refused to accept the inevitable. I vaguely recall storming over to his limp form and wrenching the people away from him, sending some stumbling back into the crowd. I shouted horribly at them, told them that they should die as well if they were to behave so selfishly. My father had been a fairly wealthy man and would share a good portion of his wages to the unfortunate. Most of the people whom obtained the money, however, took advantage of his generosity and relied fully upon his monthly gifts instead of finding a way to earn their own wages.

His death sealed their worthless fates as well.

That night, the soldiers stacked together an enormous mound of wood and lathered it with oil. They then wrapped the bodies of the men in thick brown sacks and set them alight atop it.

Nothing remained that following morning but ash and bone.

I was told that the square was thoroughly washed afterwards, but they could never quite scrub Byron's blood out of the gaps in the cobblestones. And every time I ventured to that dismal place, I saw only his pale form lying dead on the ground.

The guards had told me that he would be going on a short hunting trip. That my father would be sent out with a group of men to hunt a herd of deer that arrived from the west. They said he would come home alive and well at dawn's first light, not midday in a cartful of bodies.

That was when we first learned that the Orcs had invaded our borders. The foul creatures made their presence well known after the death of my father and the other men. Soldiers were scheduled to be sent out to fend off the beasts, but their efforts would be in vain.

After we learned of the beasts inhabiting our land, I was grief-stricken and terrified. I was only in my teen years at the time; to me, monsters only lived in the nightmares that would occasionally haunt my sleep. They weren't supposed to be in the real world, yet somehow they were.

For a long, bitter year I stayed within the protected walls, thinking that it would be more logical to remain with my people. But after a brutal attack left fifteen of our best fighters dead, I could bear it no longer. I saddled a horse and fled the city. The citizens thought that I was a loon for leaving, and perhaps I was at the time.

But at least I am still here to tell the tale.

Two weeks after I took my leave of the city, the small kingdom of Brunsfarrow was destroyed by Warg riders. The beasts burned it to the ground and let most of its inhabitants die in the toxic fumes of the smoke. It was rumored that the few citizens that escaped didn't even make it across the river before the Orcs and their wolves caught up with them.

After seeing the smoke on the horizon, I travelled far and wide before settling in the Brown Lands. The grasslands were where my father had instructed me to go if the city were ever to fall. They were relatively free of Orcs and housed plenty of game animals.

The dusty patch of flat earth in which I live provides for my needs, but darkness had begun to creep into the plains. The tall grass was wilting until it became nothing more than dry brown clumps, and the wildlife I hunted for food had either died of hunger or moved on to more prosperous lands. I was about to follow them before I somehow ended up in Mirkwood.

"Prince Legolas?" I ask suddenly, disrupting my own thoughts. "If I may ask, where do you plan on taking me?"

"Out," he states simply. I huff lightly. I've always hated it when people avoid my questions.

Nevertheless, I continue to follow the Elven Prince down the tunnel.

When Legolas said he was taking me 'out', I did not know that he meant it literally.

The Prince leads me through endless corridors and winding bridges until we finally come upon a large doorway. He sets his torch on the ground and stomps out the flames before pushing open the twin gates before him.

Rays of sunlight stream through them as soon as they swing ajar and I raise up an arm to shield my eyes. They have grown so accustomed to the gloom of the caverns that the prospect of light is foreign to them. Legolas, however, seems unaffected and purposefully strides out of the gates, gesturing for me to follow. I blink several times before I am able to make out what lies before me.

My mouth drops open in amazement.

A magnificent courtyard sits outside of the doorway. Towering apple trees grow alongside a cobblestone pathway that branches out from the gates. The trees appear to be unaffected by the bitter winter that blankets southern Mirkwood and are now blossoming with magnificent white flowers. Small bushes are scattered in the bare earth surrounding the natural structures, their blossoms adding gorgeous shades of violet, ruby, and deep indigo to the scenery. Birds of various species and color flutter through the treetops, songs bursting from their lungs. A low humming sound fills my ears as bumblebees zoom lazily over the plant life in search of nectar.

The sky above me is aglow with colors of orange and pink as dawn breaks over the horizon. The warm rays of the morning sun shine down upon my face, and chills bumps raise up on my arms as my tan skin absorbs the much needed heat.

"This is beautiful," I tell Legolas as I follow him down the pathway.

"I would hope so. It is the King's courtyard."

I freeze in place, my muscles seizing up as if I had just been struck by lightning.

"What?" I ask, looking up at the Elf. Legolas is standing several feet in front of me, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

"I said, it is the King's courtyard," says the Prince. "He requested that it be built so that he may have a place to think when important decisions must be made." He looks up towards the treetops, and I watch as a bluebird dives down from the branches. The small creature tweets upon noticing the Prince and flutters down in front of him. Legolas extends his finger and smiles when the bird alights on the newfound perch. Upon catching my awestruck expression, the Elf ushers me forward.

I tentatively creep towards the Prince, careful not to trip on any protruding tree roots, until I am standing a foot or so in front of him. The bird, still resting upon his finger, cocks its head at me before giving its wings a little flap.

_Fear not, she means you no harm_, comes the soft whisper from Legolas, though the Elvish words are not directed toward me. The Prince glances at me before reaching down and taking my wrist in his hand. Eyes never leaving mine, he raises up my fisted hand and slowly uncurls my tense fingers. Something about the way he does so sends my nervous heart aflutter, and I tremble slightly.

"Relax, Keira," he says softly. I obey and allow my muscles to loosen. Legolas then leans down and whispers something to the bird. The creature tilts its head towards him, listening intently, before letting out a tweet and hopping from his finger onto my outstretched palm. My lips part in amazement as the animal gazes up at me, its little eyes wide with innocence. I gently raise up my free hand, careful not to startle it, and gently stroke the feathers on its head with a fingertip. The bird appears to like it and leans into my hand contently. It gives a pleasant shudder before fluffing up and nestling itself down into my palm.

"How?" I whisper, glancing up at Legolas. The Elf's expression is silken as he watches me stroke the bird.

"Elves are very in tune with nature," he replies. "Every living creature, whether it be a tree or beast, knows of our bond to the earth. They speak to us, warn us of danger; we in turn give them refuge here in the Woodland Realm."

"And yet I thought I knew all there was to know about the Elves."

"I could say the same about the race of Men," Legolas says. "I thought them to be a haughty, arrogant race. Though I know some who are amiable in their own ways, but you are unlike any human I have met."

"My father was a wise man," I say, "He taught me well."

"And where is your father now? Does he remain in Brunsfarrow?"

I am slightly taken aback by his question. I do not recall mentioning the city to him.

"How do you know about Brunsfarrow?" I ask.

"I was told that you spoke of it while you slept."

My cheeks flush bright cranberry.

"I, er—sorry about that. And… no. He is not."

Legolas frowns and crosses his arms over his broad chest. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off just in time.

"Prince Legolas, I… I'd rather not talk about it," I stammer. "Brunsfarrow was… destroyed, a very long time ago. The Orcs burned it."

The Elf's brow softens slightly, and I drop my gaze to look at the bird in my hand. It appears to have fallen asleep, judging by its heavy breathing and closed eyes.

"Your reluctance to answer what is asked of you will not be accepted by my father," Legolas says firmly. "Nor will I be satisfied with your silence."

"I know this," I say, gently running my fingers along the bluebird's wings. "But for now, I believe that some things are better left..." My voice catches on the last word. "Concealed."

_No, Keira. You cannot weep now. Remember what father told you._

The thoughts, however, only add to the sorrow mounting on my shoulders. I close my wet eyes to prevent the tears from breaking through. My throat hitches to contain a sob, and I lock my jaw angrily.

_Wallowing in self-pity will not bring back what has been lost._

"The reason I brought you here was not to cause you sorrow."

The Prince's tone is gentle, and I force myself to open my eyes and look up at him. The morning sun reflects off of his golden hair, and the Elf's fair features glow almost transcendently. His lips are pursed together tightly.

"Then why would you bring me here, then?" I ask, a sudden anger overcoming my sorrow. "To interrogate me until I tell you what you want to hear?"

"Interrogation is a harsh word. I do mean to question you, but it is not of my knowing what will and will not harm your emotions. I ask your forgiveness if my words wound you, but that does not give you the right to deny me an answer."

He speaks of me as if I am a child!

"You sent Taluharn to tell the king that I was too weak to be questioned, and yet here you are now! I thought that Elves were supposed to be honest creatures."

"I did not speak untruthfully," he says indignantly. "You underestimate Thranduil. If given the choice, I can assure you that you would much prefer answering to me than to him. Especially judging by the fragile state you seem to be in."

"Do I _look _fragile?" I exclaim. The loud sound startles the bird awake, and it gives a cry of alarm before darting from my hand and retreating back into the shelter of the trees. Legolas's eyes seem to ignite with blue fire as I take a step towards him. "If I had to choose, I would say that the weak one was you for lying to Taluharn! Now he has to deny the orders of the King, all because the Prince wished to question me first. Is that how it's going to be? Everyone fighting to be the one who gets to force answers from me first? Well, I am sorry, but if that is the case I am not going to be a part of it!" I turn on heel, prepared to storm back towards the doors, when I feel something hard and distinctly sharp press into my upper back.

_So this is how he wants to play? By pulling knifes on me?_

In that moment, I forget that he is an Elf. I forget that my actions could mean my own death.

I lose all sense of logic to rage.

Letting out a yell, I whirl around and knock his arm away from me. The white blade he held clutched in his hand clatters to the ground, but he kicks it out of the way before I have a chance to grab it. He then lunges forward and, in a smooth, swift motion, kicks my legs out from underneath me. I cry out in surprise before landing flat on my back. The hard stone knocks the wind right out of me, and I desperately gulp in air. I lay there for a long moment before something grips my forearm and yanks me to my feet.

For once, Legolas actually looks genuinely irritated. Eyes narrowed, he raises a hand to his forehead before and rubs his temples before pointing towards a small stone bench beside him.

"Sit," he commands tiredly. "Before I am moved to cut out your tongue."

I do not protest and obediently seat myself on the bench. I swing one leg over the other as Legolas stands before me, pinching the bridge of his nose. I gaze up at him, rebellion gleaming in my eyes. I am angry with him for lying to both me and Taluharn, but having been knocked on my bum has acted as an extinguisher of the raging fire within me. Legolas has beaten me.

For now.

"Now," he begins, clearing his throat. "Seeing as though I have subdued you, would it be such a feat to ask you how you came to be in Mirkwood?"

I glare up at him. "As I said before, I don't know."

"I do not believe you," Legolas states simply. "Surely you must have some idea of how you came to be in in the forest. People do not just appear out of thin air."

"The only thing I recall was that I was attacked by an Orc pack in the Brown Lands," I tell him. "I managed to defend myself for a short time, but one of them cut me with their blade." I glance over at my shoulder. "I don't remember the turn out of the fight, but I suspect that it was not in my favor."

"Judging by how you faired during our brief match, I can confidently second that opinion."

"I did not have any means of defending myself!" I cry.

"That is no excuse," Legolas says nonchalantly. "A true warrior does not need weapons to turn the tide of war. Keen wits succeed against iron or steel."

"That's not what I've heard," I grumble. Much to my surprise, the Elf grins.

"I must say, the human race is very peculiar in their teachings."

"The same could be said about the Elves," I bite back. "Trust me, I have heard many things. Now I thought you were going to ask me questions, not comment on the strangeness of my race."

"Patience," he snaps, the grin vanishing from his lips, and I recoil slightly at his tone. "You talk too much, Keira of Brunsfarrow. Learn to control your tongue, or it could become the end of you."

I remember my father saying something like that when I was a young girl. He would comment on how my tongue was sharper than any sword and had the ability to cut like one.

Legolas's words seem to slap some sense into me, and I abruptly silence myself.

"You mentioned that Brunsfarrow was destroyed… what became of the people of the city?"

"They were consumed by the fire and smoke or slaughtered where they stood," I say. "There were no survivors."

"Was your father killed in the pillage of the city?" Legolas asks.

"No," I say unsurely. "Several weeks before the desolation of the city, my father went out with five other men to hunt a herd of deer. The Orcs caught them by surprise and felled them from a distance. Their accuracy with the bow and arrow was supreme." Legolas stares off at a point in the distance and nods slowly.

"Why do you ask?" I question.

"When did you flee to the Brown Lands?" he asks, changing the subject.

"A week or two before the Orcs came."

"Did anyone follow you?"

"No. They were all killed during the siege." The conversation has begun to take its toll on me. I can already feel weariness begin to creep back into my limbs.

"Keira," the Elf says, kneeling down before me. "I can sense that you are fading, but the importance of what I ask of you must be placed over your need to rest. Did you come upon anyone, anyone at all, during your journey towards the Brown Lands?"

"I did not, unless you count the rabbits and deer."

Legolas's face darkens as clouds pass over the sun, casting a looming shadow over the courtyard.

"Prince Legolas, what has happened?" I ask, careful not to venture too far with my questions. "Why do you ask me such strange things? Just give me a sword and a horse and I shall be on my way back to the Brown Lands, never to return. This I assure you; there is no need to question me."

"I will not send you off so that you may be hunted down and killed by Orcs."

"Why would you care?"

My tone is harsher than I meant it to be, but there's not going back now.

"You are an Elf. I am nobody. Why should you concern yourself with the wellbeing of a wayward mortal girl?"

The Prince sighs and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind a pointed ear. The corners of his mouth dip downwards, giving him a weary look, and he refuses to meet my gaze.

"Because you remind me of someone I once knew," he replies lowly.

His words jab into my heart like spikes of ice. Some small, pitiful part of me had the blind hope that Legolas was genuinely concerned with my safety. But that is not so. No, he wishes to protect me because I… _remind _him of someone?

"I understand," I lie, looking down at my lap. "What do you plan on doing with me, then?"

"My intention was to let you stay here until your injuries have fully healed, then to have you sent back to the Brown Lands with a patrol."

"Oh… well, my arm doesn't really hurt that bad anymore, so I guess you could go ahead and—"

A warm hand presses into my shoulder, abruptly silencing me. I look up wryly and see the Prince looking at me with a furrowed brow. He holds my gaze for a moment before letting his fall as he stands up once more.

"You are a terrible liar," he says finally. "And the farthest thing from an enemy that I have ever seen. I believe that you have answered enough of my questions for now; I have kept you from resting for far too long."

I give him a half-hearted smile before getting to my feet, prepared to make the long walk back to the dungeons.

"My liege, the King has requested your audience."

I jump slightly at the voice and turn to see Taluharn standing by the doorway. The Elf's eyes widen slightly, and it is in that moment when I notice my startling proximity to the Prince. Legolas seems to realize this as well and, shooting a glance at me, takes a step backward. My cheeks flush in embarrassment as Taluharn continues to gape but makes no comment.

"Thank you, Taluharn," Legolas says. "I best not keep him waiting. Send for a guard to escort Keira to her new accommodations, and tell my father that I shall be with him shortly." The Elf dips his head politely before disappearing through the doorway. Then, turning to me, the Prince speaks again.

"Taluharn will find someone to escort you to your new quarters," he says. "I would have him do so instead, but he is far too busy seeing to the patrols. Do not fret; you will not be left waiting for long." Legolas then begins to make his way towards the doorway.

"Prince?" I call out tentatively. The Elf stops mid-stride before looking at me once more.

"Yes?"

"Why did you ask about my father?"

His eyes close for a brief moment, his lips forming into a thin line.

"Keira, I do not think that now is the time too…"

"Please!" I burst out, my eyes beginning to grow moist with emotion. "Please, tell me."

Legolas holds my pleading gaze before beginning to walk away once more. He has almost reached the gates when, he pauses and glances over his shoulder.

"I knew your father, Keira of Brunsfarrow." A small shudder runs up his back and out along his arms, and his blue eyes glaze over with an unreadable emotion.

"I watched him die."

And with that he vanishes into the shadows.

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><p><strong>Dun dun DUN! Sorry about all the cliffhangers, but I feel like they give the story some much needed suspense. What do you guys think? Feel free to review, and thanks again for reading! :D<strong>


	4. Conversed

Hey guys! I'm finally back! Sorry that I took so long to update… I've been very busy! Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long to post. Hope you all like Chapter 4! Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own any of Tolkien's work.<strong>

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><p>"My lady?"<p>

I wake with a sharp cry at the sound of the voice. My blurry eyes take in the dark form of the Elven maid, Caladwen, standing in the doorway of my room. She holds a dull bronze tray in her hand.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you." Caladwen sweeps into the room and sets the tray down beside my sleeping pallet. Sweet-smelling bread and various kinds of cheeses rest on top of it, and my mouth waters at the aroma of food.

"I had been told that you had not eaten since you were first brought here," she continues, then adds. "The King wishes to speak to you shortly. Taluharn has been instructed to return for you in the quarter of the hour in order to take you to the washing room. I am sure you must be in need of a bath. Several new outfits have been laid out for you in the dresser."

"Thank you," I tell her softly, taking the tray in my hands. The faint glow of the lantern light dances across her features as Caladwen smiles at me. She then gives me a polite nod before bustling out of the arch way.

Caladwen had retrieved me from the King's courtyard shortly after my bitter-sweet exchange with Legolas. The she-elf and I had exchanged polite formalities, but my mind was somewhere far, far away when she led me to my new accommodations. The gentle Elf had guided me back through the tunnels before we came upon a particularly large and winding bridge. After crossing it, a short hall lead into a spacious room located in one of the multiple arches I had seen during my leave of the dungeons. In the room was a sleeping pallet stuffed with down feathers, a stout dresser, and a hanging lantern attached to the wall above a short bookshelf. Caladwen had left shortly after we arrived in my room, claiming that she would 'let me rest.' As if I could peacefully slumber with Legolas's ominous words still ringing in my ears.

For the longest time I sat upright on the soft pallet, my back propped up on the wall behind me, and replayed his statement over and over in my head.

_"I watched him die."_

But how could he? My father was far from Mirkwood at the time of this death; the Orcs were said to have ambushed his patrol near the base of the Ash Mountains, a landform that partially surrounds the desolate country known as Mordor. Legolas would have had to be some distance from the forests of Mirkwood in order to witness my father's murder. An Elf such as he would, or should, have no business that close to the dark lands. Only men such as my father were brave enough to hunt there, and his courage cost him his life.

And saying that he knew him? It made no sense at all. My father never mentioned having known, much less spoken to, a Wood Elf such as Legolas. Surely he would have told me if he had! Byron rarely kept anything from me; there were few secrets between us.

Or were there?

"Why did you have to go on that hunt," I whispered aloud. "If you had just stayed in Brunsfarrow, you might still be alive. Why did you have to die?"

The tears come before I can stop them. They cascade down my cheeks in rivulets as sobs rack my body. For years I had kept my emotions at bay, but meeting Legolas had done something to me that I couldn't, and still can't, explain. He resurrected feelings within me that even I had forgotten could be felt. The Elf has a foreign, almost supernatural, air about him.

He does strange things to my human mind.

I sat there for long hours, hugging my legs to my chest as I let the tears flow freely. Better to cry now than in the presence of the King; at least, that is my excuse.

Eventually, the sobs had receded, and I had managed to fall asleep. The night was not a pleasant one; my dreams were filled only with darkness and death. Orcs bearing dark blades hunted me down in an inescapable maze; Wargs with gleaming red eyes pursued me through dark forests.

That is why, when Caladwen woke me, my eyes were red and swollen from tears.

I rest the tray on my lap, cringing when the cold metal sends chills down my bare legs. During the wee hours of the night, my nightmares had elevated my heart rate and made me incredibly hot. I was moved to change into a thin silver nightgown I found stowed in the dresser. But now, I as sink my teeth into the frigidly cold cheese, I am beginning to regret the decision.

It takes me only a matter of minutes to finish off the bread and cheese, and for the first time in what seems like forever, I actually feel satisfied. The amount of food was small, but just large enough to silence my rumbling stomach. I lick the remains of the bread crumbs off my fingers before gazing out towards the archway.

A faint orange glow had begun to spread into the room. Sunlight, though very sparse, is still able to creep into the corridor in which I inhabit. Judging by the faintness of the rays, I would guess that the morning is still anew.

I give an enormous yawn and, setting down the empty tray, stretch out my stiff arm muscles. My wounded shoulder seems to be healing quite nicely. The once jagged cut now appears to be nothing more than a thin red line.

_ I wonder what medicines they gave me while I remained unconscious,_ I think absentmindedly before rising to my feet.

The dresser sits a foot or so from my sleeping pallet, and I step over to it before pulling open one of its three drawers. Crouching down, I am forced to squint to make out its contents in the dim lighting.

Much to my dismay, it seems that I have not been given a wide variety of clothing choices.

The drawer is packed full with dresses and various semi-formal outfits worn by Elven maidens. I scoff at them; the thought of having the Elves see me in a white-laced, frilly dress is laughable at best. The tightness of the fabric would most certainly show off every curve (or lack of them) that I possess. How would they react to seeing me in such attire?

I shudder at the thought of it.

A tan, button-down tunic, a green undershirt, and gray leggings appear to be the only semi-tolerable options. I glance back at the archway, double checking that I am still alone, before sliding the nightgown from my shoulders and snatching up the new outfit.

Having quickly slipped on the leggings and shirt, I am already buttoning down the tunic when I notice the hand-held mirror resting upon the dresser. I start slightly and nearly lose my balance on the uneven floor. After all, it has been nearly five years since I last looked upon my own reflection. Curiosity overcomes me, and my hands fall from the tunic before reaching out to pick up the mirror. Fingers shaking, I twiddle the object for a moment before peering down to look at it.

I hardly recognize the person staring back at me.

My face is thinner, much thinner, than I remember it being. Severely prominent cheekbones give me a semi-hollow appearance, and the paleness of the skin stretching over my features is frightening in itself. It is as white as snow; very different from the amber tan I last remember it having. Pale green eyes gaze back at me from beneath thinly arched eyebrows, weighed down by ugly purple bags that reveal my lack of sleep. My nose is more sharpened and angular than it once was. It reminds me of my father's. My hair is tangled into a horrid mass of ebony curls that has formed around my face like a fuzzy halo.

I give a small gasp of horror and nearly scream when the person in the mirror does the same. My grip loosens on the handle, and the thin object slips from my grasp. It clatters to the floor before shattering like pane of glass. Tiny, dagger-like shards glint menacingly in the dull sunlight.

_What on earth happened to me?_

Never, _never _have I looked like this. Not even during the great famine Brunsfarrow went through several years before the Orc invasion. A severe drought caused our grain crops to shrivel up from lack of water. People were dying on the streets from starvation. I was painfully thin back then, we all were; but lack of nourishment never showed on my face like this.

I gaze down at the remains of the mirror and begin to feel light headed. I no longer look like the fair, innocent girl that grew up in Brunsfarrow. My features have morphed and hardened to create the rugged face of a survivor. That is all that I am, after all…a selfish, lonely girl who fled her doomed people to preserve her own pitiful life. I did not attempt to fight off the Orcs like all the others.

Years of emptiness and pain have served as my punishment for the selfish act.

What would my father say if he were to see me now? Surely he would be disgusted. I am not the girl I once was; I am Nobody, a creature uncared for and made hideous by the dark things that pursue its dreams. A Loner, having chosen a life of hollowness and solitude after everything it had ever known was destroyed.

And it appears that the endless days of mourning have finally taken their toll on me.

The voice is familiar, but my thoughts are so wayward that I cannot place it immediately.

"Taluharn," I say finally. "I was just about too…"

_Wait a minute._

That voice… it is different from Taluharn's light spoken tone. Deeper, clearer; more distinctive. I look over my shoulder, and my eyes immediately fall into the sapphire gaze of the Prince.

"Oh," I say stupidly, turning round to face him. "My apologies. I thought you were Taluharn."

Legolas quirks an eyebrow.

"Um, do you… is there a problem?"

"No," he says blandly. The Elf observes me for a moment before continuing.

"I came to bid you farewell," he says. "An Orc pack has invaded our borders to the east. My father has ordered that I lead the dawn patrol to clear them out. Meanwhile, as you know, Thranduil wishes to speak to you shortly. Taluharn will be here soon to take you to him."

We stand in silence for a long moment. The Prince is leaving? The thought is terrifying to me; for what reason, I do not know. I have only known the Elf for two days at most, but it feels like forever.

"Oh—well —I hope your travels are smooth, Prince Legolas." My cheeks flush with embarrassment; what am I even saying? "Orcs are… very nasty creatures. Please do be careful. There are sure to be many of them." The lantern light dances in his clear blue irises, and he blinks at me.

_Keira, control your tongue!_

"It will take no longer than a single day's time; Elves require little rest, if you must know. Fighting Orcs can be a simple pastime if we wish it to be."

"Of course, it's just…" I trail off and clamp down hard on my fumbling tongue, silencing myself. A bemused smile dances across the Prince's features. He gives me a low bow before turning on heel and striding towards the opening.

"Prince Legolas?"

Legolas stops in the shadow of the archway before turning to look at me.

"Yes, Keira?"

"How did you see my father die?"

The Elf narrows his eyes before blinking slowly.

"Now is not the time to speak of it," he says simply. "Perhaps some other time."

"Then promise me that you will tell me when you return?"

Legolas sighs before giving a small nod.

"You have my word."

And he is gone before I can speak another word.

A bath has never felt so wonderful.

The water in the tub has been heated to a comfortable warm degree. Several of the Elves had scattered a mixture of lavender and rose petals along its surface. Probably for the smell, I would guess. Some sort of soft oil floats at the water's surface, and it seems to make the skin that it touches glow.

Perhaps this is how Elves have such flawless skin.

The silken waters lap at my chin as I sink down into them, and I let out a sigh of pleasure. I dip and allow them to soak in my hair. When I surface, my ebony curls now feel as soft as velvet. The tangles seem to have fallen right out. I happily comb my fingers through my damp locks before wringing them out. Taluharn told me that I should take no longer than ten minutes, and I do not intend to disobey his orders.

I brace my arms an either side of the metal tub and raise myself up out of it. Swinging my legs over the lip, I quickly grab the towel folded neatly onto the stone ground beneath and dry myself off. My clothing lies in a small pile beside the tub, and once I am relatively dry I reach down to pick them up.

After dressing myself in the soft Elvish attire, I use the towel to dry a good portion of the remaining moisture out of my hair. Then, sliding on a pair of slippers, I make my way out of the washing room and back towards the archway in which Taluharn waits for me.

The Elf grins upon seeing me, and I smile wryly.

"You look much better," he says.

"The bath was very lovely," I reply. "I was as grungy as a dog." The Elf laughs lightly before offering me an arm.

"Come now; let us go to the King."

Thranduil's hall is more magnificent than I could have ever imagined.

Enormous stone pillars tower up on all sides as Taluharn leads me up a long stretch of stairs. The pearly white structures are carved to look like trees and branch up all the way to the ceiling before melting into the roof of the Palace. Sunlight creeps in through multiple archways beyond the room, and I can barely hear the far off roaring of the river deep within the elven city.

When the Elf and I finally arrive at the top of the stairwell, my calf muscles have begun to ache in protest. The walk from my new accommodations to the center of the Palace was grueling. It consisted of many long bridges and dark tunnels, along with the occasional spiraled staircase.

I groan with relief when we finally come to a halt and am about to stretch out my arms when I notice the looming shadow being cast over me. My muscles lock into place, and I inhale sharply when I realize where I am. My eyes travel upward to find another, much smaller staircase that winds up towards a magnificent throne. The high-backed chair is crowned with an enormous rack of antlers, but that is not what catches my attention.

"I assume that you are the one my son has spoken of?"

The bold grey eyes of the Elven king Thranduil bore into me like daggers of ice, and I resist the impulse to shy away once more. The smooth coldness of his voice sweeps over me like a gust of wind, and I shudder slightly. The Elf sits upon the throne, his silver robe glimmering in the sunlight. A spider-like pendant encrusted with a large blue jewel holds together the outfit's high collar. One of his knees is crossed over the other, revealing gray leggings and tall boots that blend well with the rest of his attire. A tall Elven crown rests upon his head; the piece consists of a delicately interweaved mass of brown twigs that stretches around the back of his head and curls down in front of his ears. It is sparsely adorned with crimson berries, signifying the winter season. Long, golden-blonde hair nearly identical to Legolas's falls neatly down his shoulders.

I do not lie when I say that the sight of him intimidates me.

"I am," I tell him, my voice clear and powerful despite my anxiety.

Thranduil cocks his head. His gaze catches mine again, and I allow myself to glance away as I look to the person beside me. Taluharn stands calmly, and his gaze falls softly onto me as I peer up at him. He frowns at me before nodding towards the King, and I sigh shakily.

"Your highness," I say, looking back to Thranduil. "I would like to thank you for allowing me to stay here in the Woodland Realm. I know I have been a burden, and I would not have blamed your son if he instead let me die out in the forest." The Elf does not reply at first but instead rises from his throne, a stoic expression on his face.

"Legolas has always had sympathy for the weak," he says simply. "And the race of men is very fragile indeed. It was he who decided that you would stay here, not I. As far as I am concerned, a human amongst Elves can do nothing but harm."

I wince at his harsh tone, and Thranduil squints at me.

"How old are you, girl?"

"Twenty-five," I reply meekly.

I am a mere child compared to an Elf. It is embarrassing to admit my young age, especially to an Elven King.

"From where do you hail?" Thranduil asks. His tone has become increasingly demanding.

"I once lived in a small kingdom known as Brunsfarrow; it was destroyed by Orcs five years ago. The Brown Lands have been my home ever since."

The Elf nods slowly before beginning to stride down the stairs. Each step is precise and purposeful, and I grow increasingly nervous with his every footfall.

"Why did you choose to settle in that desolate wasteland?" Thranduil asks calmly. "There are plenty of other human civilizations that would have taken you in."

"Brunsfarrow was a very rural city, my lord. It was located just west of Rhun; the elements I would face if I were to journey towards a neighboring kingdom would surely kill me, if Orcs did not get to me first. The Brown Lands were the most logical choice."

"Logical, maybe, but no less dangerous," the Elf says coldly. "The Brown Lands are no place for a human…especially a girl. Many hidden dangers have begun to creep out from the shadows.

"I have a hard time believing that there is truth to your story. If you currently have been living in the Brown Lands as you claim, then how did you end up in Mirkwood?" The elven king has descended the stairs and has now come to a stop in front of me. He smells freshly of the forest, the sharp scent of pine itching at my nose.

"I don't know," I manage to whisper out, anxiety in my voice.

The Elf raises his eyebrows before leaning down until we are at eye level.

"What is your name?" he asks me. A crippling silence seems to overcome me, and I do not reply.

"She is called…" Taluharn starts, but Thranduil raises a hand to silence him. His gray eyes remain locked onto mine, unmoving and unfeeling.

"Let her speak for herself," he tells the Elven guard. Taluharn shoots a glance at me before taking a respectful step backwards. I clench my jaw before finally speaking.

"Keira," I gasp out, forcing myself to brave the King's powerful gaze. "I am Keira Whitam, daughter of Byron Whitam."

Thranduil's eyes flash with an unreadable emotion.

"Where is your father now?" he asks slowly.

"Dead."

That one, simple word seems to ease the crackling tension between me and the Elven King, and he leans back slightly.

"Was he destroyed along with the city?"

"No. He and a patrol were ambushed by an Orc pack not far from the Ash Mountains. They were all killed."

Thranduil's stare is eerily similar to Legolas's blue gaze, except it is much more intense.

"How do your injuries fair, Keira of Brunsfarrow?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Very well; my shoulder has almost fully healed."

"As I suspected." Thranduil slowly leans up until his is looking down on me once more. "I have organized for a patrol to take you to the nearest human settlement by noon of the morrow. The Brown Lands are a dark place. If you dare wish to return there, it would be the last thing you ever did. I do not intend to have your blood on my hands."

_Nearest human settlement? What?_

"I do not understand," I say, my brow furrowing,

"It has been arranged that you will be taken to a small town located northwest of the Woodland Realm. My son might have told you otherwise, but he does not yet know of what now resides in the Brown Lands."

I open my mouth to say more but am interrupted by a sharp cry.

"My King!"

I whirl around to see an Elven guard rushing up the stairs behind me. He is dressed in full battle armor, save the helmet. His breathing his heavy and labored, as if he has been running for quite some time.

It is not until he glances over at me that I discover the fear hidden beneath his amber eyes.

The Elf's next words are but a blur.

"My King, it's the dawn patrol... the noon patrol reported hearing screaming and shouting near the eastern border. When they went out to investigate, there was no sign of them. The Orcs remain unseen as well. King Thranduil, I fear that something grave has happened."

Thranduil's intense expression is replaced by one of unmasked horror, and the color vanishes from his face. Our gazes meet, and in that moment I know we are thinking the same thing.

_"Where is Legolas?"_

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><p><strong>WHOMP, there it is. Hope you don't have anything against cliffhangers, because there are sure to be lots of them! Feel free to leave reviews, and a big thank you to all the lovely people who have taken time to read this! <strong>


	5. Escaped

Author's Note: Here's Chapter 5! This is the longest chapter yet, so hope you guys like it! Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Yep, you guessed it. I do not own the Lord of the Rings or any of Tolkien's work.<strong>

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><p>"Missing? The dawn patrol is <em>missing<em>?"

The words spew from my mouth before I can stop them. The Elven guard turns to look at me and frowns. My green eyes are ablaze as I stare back at him rebelliously.

"He…they have been gone for only a mere hour or so," I continue. "How can you be so quick to assume that?"

"As I said, several of the guards heard a far off ruckus coming from the eastern border." The Elf glances warily at the King. "In our searching, however, we found no sign of them; it must then be assumed that something has happened to drive them off course."

"And what would that 'something' be?" I ask, surprising myself with the ferocity of my tone. "Orcs? Wargs?"

"We found no tracks belonging to either race. Either we are dealing with something unknown, or the Orcs hid their trail well. Not even our best trackers could make out any sort of tread in the foliage near the location of the screams."

My hands clench into tight fists.

"For heaven's sake! You're Elves, aren't you? Isn't tracking supposed to be one of your specialties?"

"It is, but we cannot track something that does not exist." Taluharn's words startle me, and I swing my head round to look at him. The Elf's gaze is locked onto the guard standing before us.

"Harovel, you must be mistaken," he says gently. "The Prince himself told me that he would be leading his warriors north to intercept the Orc pack."

"That's not what he told me," I grumble.

Something grips hard onto my forearm. I jump slightly and avert my gaze to see Thranduil's face inches from mine. The Elf's lips nearly touch my ear when he speaks.

"What did he tell you?"

"Nothing that would concern you," I bite back, slowly shifting my head to look him in the eye.

Our gazes are fire on ice.

"Keira," he says icily "Do not test me. Tell me, what did Legolas say to you?"

Something in his tone dances along the borderline of 'irrational' and 'psychopath.' That fact in itself makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and I swallow nervously before replying.

"He said that he came to bid me farewell, and that he was going to lead out a patrol to fend off an Orc pack near the eastern borders. He said that you were the one who sent him."

Thranduil's face contorts into an expression of pure rage.

"Fool!"

The Elven king turns away briskly, unintentionally giving me a mouthful of blonde hair, before angrily storming up towards his throne. Once he has reached the top of the stairs, he whips around to look at the Elven guard.

"Rally together your best warriors and go with them to scour the forest perimeter." The king's hands clench into fists as he spits out the next words "Legolas has gone to look for her."

_Her?_

My brow knits together in confusion, and both Taluharn and the other Elf—Harovel, I believe was his name—start slightly. Harovel's eyes are as wide as harvest moons when he speaks next.

"But my King, you cannot possibly be referring to…"  
>"I am, Harovel," Thranduil snaps. "Now do as I say, or my son's foolish antics will most certainly mean the end of him."<p>

The brown-haired Elf shoots a conflicted expression at the King before mumbling, "It shall be done." He then turns on heel and vanishes back down the stairwell. Thranduil lets out a sigh before sitting heavily down onto his throne. He closes his eyes and begins to rub at his temple, apparently oblivious that Taluharn and I are still here.

"My King?" Taluharn says tentatively. "If I am to be of any service to you, you need only…"

"You will go with him, Taluharn," Thranduil says suddenly, not bothering to look at him. "Harovel is young still; you have much more experience in the darker stretches of the forest than he."

"And what of Keira?"

At the mention of my name, the King opens his eyes to look at the Elf and I.

"I plan on allowing her to leave with a group of guards by midday tomorrow. I have given them orders to take her to a human settlement north of here. It is a long trek, but let it be known to you that her return to the Brown Lands would mean certain death. And though some may think otherwise, I am not so cold as to send a girl to her own demise.

"That being said, she will remain in the Palace until her leave in the morrow. Go out as soon as possible, Taluharn; there is no time to waste."

Taluharn's goodbye was short and distracted. Too short, in my opinion, being I will quite possibly not be seeing him again. The Elf has been nothing but kindness throughout my stay; I do not doubt that I will be missing his company in the days that follow my leave.

But now is not the time for such thoughts, for my mind has strayed to a more pressing matter.

Who is the mysterious 'her' figure Thranduil mentioned while he spoke to Harovel? Whoever she may be, the King suspected that she was the reason that Legolas went out with the patrol. Also, judging by the expression on the Thranduil's face, I would guess that this is not the first time something like this has happened.

_ Perhaps the King was wrong, _I think to myself as I stare up at the ceiling of my room. _Maybe Legolas was telling the truth, though even if he was, that does not make the situation any less…_

"Your head is empty, Nithron!"

The sharp cry rouses me from my thoughts, and my eyes immediately drift over to the darkened archway to my right.

"Then yours is no different, my friend, if you believe the Prince to be alive and well! Did you not know that the noon patrol heard screams coming from the eastern border?"

"It could have been the calling of the birds, for all we know." I watch with interest as two tall silhouettes come into my line of sight. They appear to have paused in front of the entrance to my quarters.

"Do you believe that the King would have sent out Taluharn and his best warriors if that was the case?" snaps one of the figures. "We must come to terms with the fact that the Prince and the remaining members of the dawn patrol might be dead."

"Do not speak such things! Of course the Prince still lives!"

"Nithron!" cries one of the Elves. "It was Prince Legolas's voice the patrol heard! They have refrained from mentioning it to the King, but they fear that he has either been gravely wounded or possibly even… killed. One of the Elves spoke of hearing pained cries of, "Where is she?" from deep within the forest. The words were Elvish and harbored the accent of the house of Thranduil."

"Surely, the Prince must have accepted her fate by now!"

"Nay." One of the Elves shakes his head solemnly. "Her body was never recovered from the battlefield. The Prince still believes her to be alive somewhere in Mirkwood. Poor lad… I fear he shall continue to believe it until his years on Middle Earth have come to an end. She captivated him in ways I cannot express."

"Captivated or not, there is a time when one has to accept the fate of another. Legolas has been sneaking out to search for her ever since the battle. I dare say that he will never be the same."

There is a brief silence before they speak once more.

"What has become of the human girl he found in the woods a few days past?" asks one of the Elves.

"I have heard that she currently resides in one of the spare rooms," replies the other. "Though I know not where. Thranduil plans on sending her away tomorrow. After all, he can't be having a mortal roaming about during dark times such as these."

The conversation slowly fades away as the two figures begin to walk once more, and in a matter of moments they have vanished down the hall.

Fear grips at my heart as the severity of their words begins to sink in. Granted, the dawn patrol might be lost… but dead? I imagine the group of Elves trekking through the quiet forest and being ambushed by Warg riders. The images that come after are graphic and disturbing, and I sit up in order to clear my thoughts.

_Relax, Keira. The Elves are not your concern, nor is Legolas._

But how could he not be? Legolas sheltered me in his kingdom; his people gave me food and healed my wounds, and this is how I am to repay them? To sit here and do nothing while they are preyed upon by whatever dark things are sure to be hunting them?

No. I have been given this choice before, and I chose to do nothing. Legolas and the Elves will not suffer like my people did in their last moments of life. I may be a woman, but I have the strength to help those in need. If the Prince were to die now, after all he has done for me, and I had done nothing to prevent it, I would never forgive myself.

I have made wrong choices before, and I do not intend to make them again.

The air is dank and stale in this section of the tunnels. The thin lantern light illuminates the dust I kick up with every footfall and I resist the impulse to sneeze. The noise would only attract attention, and that is something that I do not need at the moment.

In a few short minutes, Caladwen is sure to discover my ploy against her. She had stopped by my quarters only a few minutes earlier to deliver a tray of food. I had told her that there would be no need to check on me later, but the Elf maid had insisted upon stopping by in a quarter of an hour to retrieve the empty tray. As soon as she left, I inhaled my food before bustling out of the room and down the hall. My goal is to retrace the path Legolas and I took towards the King's courtyard.

Much to my dismay, it is nearly an impossible task. Every winding corridor seems to be identical to the last, and it is only a matter of time before I come across a guard patrolling the halls.

Legolas had been so sure of where he was going. How did he not become lost?

_He lives here, idiot, _I answer myself.

Suddenly, voices echoing down the hallway alert me, and my heart flutters with fear. I quickly dance into the shadows and, crouching down, press up against the wall beside me. My eyes widen as the voices grow louder and louder until a flickering light emerges from around the bend up ahead.

Two Elves stride into the hallway, conversing in loud whispers. One of them holds a lantern. They pause for a moment and crane their necks towards the tunnel in which I hide, and chill bumps raise on my arms.

_Please don't let them see me. Please don't let them see me._

Suddenly, a sharp cry from somewhere down the corridor grabs their attention. One of the figures barks out a command and points at the tunnel from which I came. Then they both begin to stride towards me. I bite down hard on my lip and mutter a hasty prayer as the two Elves bustle right past me.

For a long, dragging minute I remain hidden until the glow of the lantern fades away into the distance. Then I am off again, dashing down the tunnel with speed that surprises me, given my injury just a few days healed.

I had recognized the voice that cried out; it was Caladwen. She had most likely discovered that I was missing and called out for assistance.

I am out of time; I must find the courtyard now, or the Elves are sure to catch me.

My breathe comes out in wheezing gasps as I sprint from tunnel to tunnel, and I don't notice the sudden drop off until I have nearly tipped over the edge. Swallowing a shriek of terror, I stumble back several steps before looking down at the raging rapids beneath the cliff edge on which I stand. I then turn to look at the narrow bridge branching out to the right of me. Hope comes to rise in my chest when I realize that this is the exact structure that Legolas and I had crossed moments before arriving at the courtyard.

Only this time, there is no one to catch me if I fall.

"You can do this," I whisper to myself, willing my stiff legs to break into a steady jog. Sweat breaks out across my forehead as I make my way across the bridge. The water below hisses with menace, and a small gasp escapes my lips when I nearly slip on a damp patch of wood. Once I have managed to regain my footing, I lock my jaw and begin to sprint for the tunnel ahead of me.

The bridge groans beneath my footfalls, but I ignore it. My only thought is that I have to reach the other side before the Elves reach me.

Almost there, almost there…

Then, at last, I dash into the tunnel on the far wall. Darkness quickly swallows me up, and a semi-hysterical smile creeps across my lips when I catch the scent of apple blossoms. The courtyard! I nearly cry out with joy as I round a sharp corner, but my breathe hitches when I take in the sight before me.

An Elven guard stands at attention in front of the twin doors leading to the courtyard. He is adorned in Elvish armor, and a large silver spear gleams in his gloved hands. An enormous rack of swords sits on the wall beside him.

Though he seems not to notice me, the mere sight of the guard is enough to send me scurrying back several steps.

_Of course the gate would be guarded!_

How could I forget such an obvious fact? I mutter a curse at my own stupidity before placing my fingers on my temples. I have never been good in situations such as this. It requires that I remain logical under extreme stress, something I find very difficult. Think, Keira. There must be _some _way that you can…

Then it dawns on me.

A distraction! Elves are extremely sensitive to sound. If I were to lead the guard away from the doorway by making some sort of noise, I might be able to get through.

Brow furrowed, I scour the hall in attempt to find anything of use. The dimness of the tunnel is thick and heavy, but I am just barely able to make out a medium sized pebble lying a foot or so away from me. Grinning, I reach down and grab the object. The stone is surprisingly lightweight, and I just hope that it is enough to grab the Elf's attention.

Mustering up my courage, I slowly creep out from behind the corner of the wall and eye the smaller corridor to my right. Then, raising my arm, I lob the rock as hard as I can into it.

The stone clatters noisily against the walls of the tunnel, instantly alerting the Elf. His head swivels toward the sound, and I watch excitedly as he begins to stride away from the doorway. Once he disappears within the tunnel, I make my move.

Running as fast a as I can, I sprint for the doorway. It is not far, and in a matter of moments I have reached it and begun to swing open the gates. As I do so, my eyes travel to the rack of swords sitting idly on the wall to my left. If I am to meet any enemies along the way, it would be best if I were armed. Glancing over at the hallway, I tip-toe to the rack before grabbing the hilt of a particularly menacing silver blade. It slides smoothly out from its holster, and I quickly dart back to the doors. I inch the gates open just wide enough so as I am able to slip through.

Just like that, I am free.

The doors swing silently closed behind me, and I turn to look out at the courtyard. The landscape is bathed in the brilliant orange light of the setting sun. It appears that the trees are made of gold, and the flowers are jewels.

The sight of it is enough to leave me speechless, but I cannot take the time to admire it now. The guards are sure to suspect my means of escaping. In fact, it is most likely that they have already begun to head this way.

I hustle down the cobblestone pathway, warily glancing about my surroundings. The trees and bushes provide the perfect hiding spot for an Elven guard; I would not see them until they were upon me. My breathing quickens in panic at the thought of being captured. The King's wrath would be great, especially when I told him of my plan.

Shaking my head free of my wandering thoughts, I quickly turn my attention back to the path in front of me. A large row of hedges is the only thing standing between me and the forest. They contain several large gaps that would be easy enough for me to clamber through.

But as I come to a stop at their base, I realize that my task might be more complicated than I originally thought.

The tall bushes are filled to the brim with jagged black thorns the size of my forearm. Their ebony tips glisten dangerously in the sunlight, and my eyes widen with horror. There is no way I can slip through the hedge without being skewered through.

_There must be some way around it._

Suddenly, a sharp horn blast grabs my attention, and I instinctively duck down behind a nearby rose bush. As I gaze warily out into the expanse of garden, I notice movement coming from a patch in the hedge. A section of the bush begins to tremble violently before, much to my shock, dislodging from the rest of the hedge and lowering down onto the ground. That's when I discover that the back of it is lined with some sort of wood.

_A gate! _

As if on cue, a sharp whinny cuts through the air, and several large shapes come thundering in through the opening. Horses, three of them, all with speckled gray pelts. Elven riders sit atop the animals as they guide them along a pathway that winds through a magnificent overhang of red and gold vines. Two of the horses quickly disappear into the depths of foliage, but one hangs back. Its rider abruptly brings it to a halt before sliding from the saddle. The Elf lands gracefully on the ground and strides to the front of the horse. He runs a hand along the animal's nose and whispers something in its ear, though I am too far away to hear what he says. The horse shakes its pearly white mane, and the Elf gives a light laugh before patting it on the neck. He then turns from it and, striding through the overhang, vanishes after the other Elves. His horse, however, remains standing there.

A crazy idea pops into my mind as I gaze upon the animal. Clutching the sword in my hand, I spring out from my hiding place and begin to stride towards the horse. I don't dare to run; if I startle it, it will most likely call for its rider.

The gray mare swings her head round to look at me before snorting indignantly. She stamps a hoof on the ground and whinnies sharply.

"Shh!" I say in a hushed whisper, continuing to creep towards it. The animal prances in place and huffs nervously. She is not very far from me, only a few feet. Upon noticing the creature's wide-eyed look, I try to calm her.

_"Settle yourself, beast of the earth," _I say in the tongue of the Elves. _"I mean you no harm. Come now; be not afraid."_

The horse goes quiet as its ears swivel towards me. My words seem to have a desired calming effect on it, and her crystalline blue eyes blink at me curiously. I reach out my hand towards the skittish animal, and she takes a small step towards me. My fingers brush against the soft, velvety texture of her nose before sliding down onto her cheek.

_"I have need of you at the moment," _I say, gazing deeply into the horse's eyes. _"But I will return you to your rider as soon as possible."_

The creature seems to accept my terms with a low murmur, and I smile and stroke the mare's curly mane. I slide the sword into a sheath attached to her saddle then hoist myself onto the horse's back. After living many years in the rural city of Brunsfarrow, I have grown accustomed to riding. My own horse, Judo, had proved to be my faithful companion during my escape from the city. However, once we arrived in the Brown Lands, the animal disappeared one dreadfully cold night and never returned.

This elven horse is much daintier and thinner than Juno, and I am forced to hug my legs tightly to her sides to prevent myself from falling. Once seated properly, I grip the reigns tightly and have the horse turn round before ushering her back towards the gateway in the hedge. The animal rears up slightly before breaking into a canter and bounding out of the opening.

And then we are gone.

The sun had dipped down into the horizon only minutes after my escape of the courtyard. The forest is now dark with the shadows of the night. As I ride atop the Elven horse, I am beginning to miss the sun's warming rays. Frigid winds have begun to blow through the landscape and the mare has begun to wheeze in the cold air. Our breathes come out as hot puffs of steam.

We have been riding for what seems like an age. So far, there has been no sign of any Elves. It had surprised me that Thranduil would dare send Taluharn's patrol out at such a late hour, seeing as though Mirkwood is a very treacherous place after dark. But then again, here I am searching for them.

No, not them. There is only one name that preoccupies my thoughts.

"Legolas," I gasp out, my voice ragged with cold. "Where are you?" My knuckles have begun to turn white from clutching the reigns a little too tight. The wind bites into my face, stinging my eyes, and large flurries of snow have begun to obscure a good portion of my vision. The Elven horse has set her pace at a brisk canter; fast enough to make good headway, but slow enough as to let me attempt to scour the area. My sense of direction is limited due to the snowstorm, but I predict that by now we must've reached the far west corner of Mirkwood.

_Where are you, Legolas?_

Suddenly, the horse beneath me lets out a shrill scream and comes to an abrupt halt. My forehead knocks painfully into the animal's powerful neck as she rears up in alarm.

_"Settle yourself!" _I say to her.

It is only when the horse falls back onto all fours that I see the cause of her fright.

The body of a massive black Warg lies just in front of the mare's front hooves. It is partially concealed by drifts of snow, but there is no mistaking the redness of the blood that stains the ground surrounding it. The beast has been dead for quite some time, judging by the reek of the body.

After patting the horse's neck reassuringly, I scan the area and slid down from the saddle. I kneel down beside the Warg corpse and begin to dust some of the snow from its bloodied pelt. As I do so, my fingers brush across something hard and thin. Frowning, I wrap my hand around the object and tug upwards. A brief struggle ensues before I am finally able to free it from the carcass.

It is an Elven arrow.

Hope flutters inside of my chest as I finger the object, and I feel the tiniest of smiles creep across my lips. Someone, whether they be of Taluharn's patrol or Legolas's, has been this way. However, the sight of the body also means that Orcs and Wargs have been here as well.

I quickly mount the grey mare before gripping onto the reigns and directing her around the body.

"We are getting closer," I whisper to the animal. Her ears swivel slightly at my words before abruptly lying down flat against her head. A low rumble begins to emanate from her throat, and the horse's muscles tense.

_"What is it?"_ I ask her, anxiety tugging at my heart. _"What is wrong?"_ The horse begins to stumble backwards before giving a sharp whinny.

"Now!"

The howling voice comes from somewhere to my right, and as if on cue, two Orcs spring out from behind a clumpy patch of foliage. Terror courses through my veins, and I abruptly yank back on the reigns. The mare lets out a squeal before dancing backwards several steps. The Orcs each harbor a gleaming black blade, and I unsheathe my own sword with shaking fingers. Much to my dismay this is one fight that I cannot back down from. If I were to flee, they would hunt me down.

_"Do as I command, and feel no fear," _I tell the horse in Elvish.

The mare stamps the ground anxiously, then calms and shifts to battle stance. The Orcs growl before charging. I urge the horse forward and raise my sword, preparing to bear down onto them.

My sword collides with one of the Orc blades, and the velocity of my swig nearly sends the beast's weapon clattering to the round. The creature snarls as I come round for another attack. I grasp my sword tightly before aiming a vicious swipe at the other Orc's throat. It misses by mere inches and instead lobs off a large chunk of the creature's pointed ear. It howls in pain but is quickly silenced when I slam the butt of my sword into its temple, knocking it to the ground.

I am just about to finish it off when I feel a red hot pain stab into my hip. Gasping, I whip my head around to find the second Orc standing beside me; its hand harbors a jagged knife with a bloodied tip. Anger overcomes me, and in a single motion I swing my sword round and separate the beast's head from its shoulders. Its body crumples to the ground, splattering both myself and the Elven horse with foul-smelling blood.

The fight is not yet over.

The other Orc, having been spared by its companion's foolish antics, has now leaned up into a sitting position. I nudge the mare forward and place the tip of my sword on the beast's throat. The pain from my hip is fierce, and I resist the impulse to double over.

"Where are they?" I hiss at it. "What did you do to them? They came this way, did they not?"

"You can't win, human," the Orc cackles, avoiding my question. Blood bubbles from its mouth. "Even if you kill me, the forest will surely make prey of you."

"Where are they?" I repeat. "Speak, filth!" My words are laced with venom despite my anxiety. When the creature refuses to speak, I make a bargain. "If you tell me what you know, I will spare your miserable life."

The Orc grins, revealing rotten brown fangs, then throws itself on the edge of my sword and slits its own throat. Horrorstruck, I watch as the Orc writhes on the ground for a moment before going still.

It knew; I could see it in its eyes. It knew where the Elves were, and now possibly my only hope of finding them has been lost. Clutching my wounded hip, I let out a sigh of despair.

It is not until I turn the horse round that I notice the third Orc hidden beneath the shadows of the trees. The creature's lips are curled upwards into a menacing smile, and the moonlight glints off its yellowed fangs. My stomach wrenches with nausea when I look upon what it holds.

The Orc has drawn tight a stout ebony bow. Its iron-tipped arrow, glinting in the starlight, is aimed directly at me. The bow groans as the creature stretches it back even further, preparing to let the arrow fly.

The shot is never fired.

I watch in shock as a silver blade sprouts out from the Orc's throat. The object then slides smoothly back out from its body as the beast collapses to the ground. Dead.

Eyes wide, I watch as a lean figure stumbles out from behind a patch of heavy foliage. A sword is clutched in his right hand, gleaming with Orc blood, and the figure braces himself on a nearby tree trunk before turning to look at me. Long strands of white-blond hair, smeared with red, fall down his shoulders. His eyes are heavy lidded and fogged with exhaustion, but there is no mistaking the incandescent blue of his irises, nor the tone of his soft words when he speaks.

"It is not safe here."

My breath hitches in my lungs, and the sword falls from my hand.

"Legolas… you're alive."

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><p><strong>Well there you have it! Feel free to leave me some reviews, and thanks again for reading! :)<strong>


	6. Found

Author's note: Hey guys! I'm back! Sorry about the long(ish) wait… life's been busy :P Anyways, I hope you all enjoy Chapter 6!

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: *sniffles* I don't own any of Tolkien's work. <strong>

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><p>"Keira?"<p>

Legolas face contorts in shock. He shudders in a cold gust of wind, and I stride forward until I am standing right in front of him. The Elf's skin is a sickly pale color, almost blending in with the snow surrounding him. His once flawless face is now decorated with various cuts and bruises, including one particular nasty slash above his right brow. My gaze then travels down to his blood-splattered hair and clothing. The fabric of the vest that adorns his shoulder is shredded until it is nearly unrecognizable as a sleeve. I gently reach out and move a strand of his blond hair away from his arm. My stomach clenches upon discovering what must be the cause of the Prince's weary appearance.

There is a broken off arrowhead embedded into the hollow of his shoulder.

"Prince Legolas, what happened?" I cry out, my mouth agape with horror. The Elf sighs and leans his head against the tree. His ice blue eyes are filled with pain.

"We were ambushed," he says lowly, closing his eyes "The Orcs were numerous. I fear that the entire patrol was… killed."

"Killed?" I gasp. "But it cannot be! Surely you are mistaken."

The Prince's chest heaves in a sigh, but even that small movement seems to pain him. An enormous shudder runs throughout the Elf's body, and his eyes roll back just as his knees buckle beneath him.

I rush forward and fling my arms around his waist to prevent him from falling. Legs trembling with effort, I manage to slowly lower both of our bodies down to the ground. The Prince's head slumps onto my shoulder, and I hug his cold form tight to my own in an attempt to keep him warm.

I gently lean my head against his, pondering what to do next. There is no way I am going to be able to get him onto the horse, much less ferry him all the way back to the Palace. We are going to have to stay here for the remainder of the night, no matter how dangerous it may be.

"Oh, come on!"

I have been trying to start a fire for nearly half an hour now, and so far I have gotten barely a spark. The sticks I managed to gather near the area are still half frozen, and the added moisture makes them nearly impossible to burn. The small pieces of flint I hold in my hands spray sparks down onto the pile whenever I hit them together, but the coals die as soon as they touch the wood.

Finally, after a frustrating struggle, I manage to set alight some of the wood shavings. My face lights up with joy, and I bend down close to the flame and begin to softly blow on it. The fire brightens and spreads with every puff of air, and in a matter of minutes the entire pile of sticks is alight.

Smiling at my success, I give a small pump in the air with my fist.

"Enjoying yourself?"

The sudden voice startles me, and I look over my shoulder to find Legolas staring at me. I had leaned him up against a tree trunk while I worked on making a fire and, having found several bundles of cloaks in the horse's saddle bag, had laid them onto his lap in an attempt to keep him somewhat warm. The Elf glances down curiously at the fabric before looking up at me. His eyebrow quirks, and my cheeks grow hot with a blush.

"Not at all, actually," I reply, turning back towards the fire in order to hide my reddening face. "Making fire is quite a taxing business."

"Is it now?" I glance over my shoulder and watch as Legolas folds his hands neatly in his lap. "I wouldn't know. Elves rarely have need of fire for means of warmth; I myself have never built one."

"Really?"

"Yes," he says. His eyes glimmer with amusement. Weariness still hazes them over, but they appear to be somewhat clearer than the last time he opened them.

Forcing myself to break his gaze, I slowly rise from my crouched position. My injured hip protests at the sharp movement, and I fail in an attempt to conceal my wince of pain. Legolas, ever watchful, catches on immediately.

"Are you wounded?" he asks tiredly.

"Hardly," I grunt, not wanting to show weakness in front of him. "My wellbeing is none of your concern; it is, after all, you who are in dire need of attention."

The Prince's features harden as I kneel down in front of him.

"Don't try denying it," I say, catching the annoyed expression that flickers across his face. "There is an arrowhead embedded in your shoulder; if the wound is not properly dressed, it will fester and then most likely kill you. It has to be taken out."

"If you are so bold as to say such things, then why don't you remove it yourself?"

I blink, surprised. Does he not think me capable enough to treat his wounds?

"Relax," Legolas soothes upon noticing my offended expression. "I will talk you through it. This is not the first time something like this has happened, if you must know." The Elf grimaces as he straightens his back against the trunk. "Now, remove my sleeve."

"I know perfectly well what to do. There is no need to treat me as if I am a child; my father taught me well on how to treat wounds. "

Legolas shoots me an irritated look that sends my heart into a nervous pitter-patter.

"Well, um…" I stammer. "At least, he _showed _me how to do so. I...what do you wish for me to use to cut off the-?"

"I don't know, Keira, perhaps something _sharp_?"

His fierce words send me scrambling back to the horse. The mare stands patiently several feet away, apparently unfazed by the bitter cold as she munches on a clump of grass. She raises her head upon noticing me running towards her and nickers quietly. I smile at her and run my fingers down the bridge of her nose. Then, turning to the saddle, I yank free the sword from the sheath.

"I shall use this," I mutter as I trudge over to him once more. The Elf's eyes widen upon seeing the lean Elven blade, and his steady gaze turns into a glower.

"Not only did you steal a horse, but a blade as well?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "Thranduil's wrath will be great. It was foolish to come here. You would have been better off staying in the Palace."

"Well excuse me for coming to save your life!" I snap. "Would you rather me go back, then? Let you die, all alone, out in the wilderness?" Suddenly angered, I throw down the sword before crossing my arms over my chest. "If that is what you wish, then make it known to me now. I will be gone in an instant."

The Prince watches me with inquisitive blue eyes before sighing.

"Your head may be empty at times, but you do not seem to be the heartless type."

My lips press into a thin line. He's right. I do have a heart; or, at least, I did at one time. Long ago, I once had a kind and loving heart, but pain changes things. It seems to turn your very soul to stone.

Pain makes you stronger so that it may break you harder.

"No, I am not heartless." I bend down to pick up the hilt of the sword. "But I am as close as one can get." I glance over at the Elf to find him gazing up at me with a strangely conflicted expression.

"What?" I ask sharply, kneeling down and beginning to cut at the fabric surrounding his wound.

At first he does not respond, but then finally he states, "You are very peculiar." I roll my eyes before lobbing off the remainder of his shoulder sleeve.

"Most of the humans I have met are haughty and arrogant," he continues. "You, on the other hand, do not seem to be like that at all. The Lakemen seek only riches, and the Gondorians are consumed by greed. Were the citizens of Brunsfarrow any different?"

My sword hand falters at the mention of the city.

"No," I reply lowly, angling my gaze upward until I am looking him in the eye. "They were not. My people were just as greedy and selfish, but I had to accept them for who they were. After all, their deaths would not have brought me any less pain if they were an honorable folk. None who live on this earth, whether they are of the race of Men or Elves, could possibly deserve such a cruel fate. Only the Orcs and all who are allied with them should be slaughtered as they were." I reach forward and gently slide the dull green fabric from his arm, further exposing the horrid wound beneath. The moonlight shines down on the silver arrowhead sunken deep into his flesh. The object is hardly visible beneath a massive coating of blood and dead tissue. Bile rises up in my throat, and I fight the impulse to gag.

"A knife," I manage to choke out. "I'm going to need a knife to do this." Legolas nods his understanding before reaching back and pulling one of his white elvish blades from its sheath. He hands it to me without a word, and I grasp its hilt with trembling fingers.

_Be brave, Keira. Be brave for his sake._

"This is going to hurt. Do you want me to find you a stick to bite down on?"

"Nay, though you are kind to think of such things."

I look up at the Elf anxiously, and his blue stare is eerily calm.

"Why ever not?"

"Sometimes there is but one choice, and that is to bear with the pain," he says gently. "Now you must hurry; remove it while the moon is still high in the night sky. Its silver rays will not stay with us forever." Swallowing hard, I cast one last weary look at the Prince before locking my jaw and pressing the tip of the blade into his shoulder. I watch out of my peripheral as all remains of color  
>vanish from his face, but he makes no sound.<p>

My hand steadily guides the knife deep into the fleshy hole. A horrible scraping noise ensues as the object scraps against the arrowhead, and blood has already begun to seep out from the wound. The red liquid makes the task at hand more difficult, for it makes the Elven blade extremely slippery. One mistake could sever a vital artery and possibly kill him.

_Deftly, deftly! Remember what Father taught you!_

The knife acts as a lever as I begin to pry upwards at the arrowhead. The gray object begins to creep towards the surface with every push, and I bite down on my lip to prevent myself from grunting with effort. Legolas remains perfectly still as I work, but his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. Surely he must be in an immense amount of pain, as I am not the most skilled at the task appointed to me.

The thought somehow drives me to push down harder on the blade, and finally, after an enormous shove, the base of the arrowhead emerges from the folds in his skin. My eyes light up at my success. I gently set down Legolas's blade before grasping the thin object in between my fingers. A thick coating of blood makes the arrowhead slippery, but my short fingernails manage to hook onto the small grooves on its sides.

After a grueling few seconds of tugging on the stubborn object, I nearly cry out with relief when it slips free from the Elf's shoulder and falls into my palm. I look down at the object, and my stomach twists upon noticing the minuscule barbs that line each of its sides. Those were the reason that it was so hard to pull out.

"It's out," I say to Legolas, lobbing the bloodied object deep into the forest. The Elf's eyes remained closed for a moment for before slowly fluttering open.

My heart pangs when I notice the glistening tears swimming in their blue depths.

"Prince Legolas." My voice is as soft as silk as I choke back a sob. Something strange comes to rise within my being; an emotion unlike anything I have felt before. Guilt, maybe? No, it can't be. I know what guilt feels like; this is something entirely different. To intentionally cause someone so great a pain, even though it must be done to preserve their life… it is simply unbearable.

"I…forgive me." With that I get to my feet and begin to head back towards the horse for more supplies.

A strong hand clamps around my wrist and stops me in my tracks. I look back over my shoulder to find the Elf's blue eyes boring into mine.

"There is nothing to forgive," he says strongly. "You did what was needed of you, and for that I am grateful." The corner of his lip tugs upward as he attempts a smile. I cannot bring myself to return it and instead continue to gaze down at him sadly.

"Thank you, Prince. For saving me that day. I hate that this is the way I have to repay you."

"Saving a life does not require thanks," he replies gently. "It was merely a good dead, and such actions do not ask for anything in return."

His eyes glitter in the starlight, and my lips curl into smile.

Nearly half an hour passes before I have finished treating the Prince's wounds. I had used the fabric from his sleeve to act as a temporary wrap to shield his injured shoulder from the biting wind. The Elf has held out well during the process, though his face is still bare of color.

"I am nearly through," I tell him, gently dabbing at a large cut on his forehead with a bundle of cloth. "Afterwards, it might be best that you attempt at trying to sleep. Your body needs rest to recover."

"Elves do not require the same type of rest as mortals do," Legolas says simply. "My body will heal just as quickly while I am awake."

I lean back in order to shoot him a look.

"If you refer to the term 'mortal' once more, I fear that I shall be moved to slap you. It is very demoralizing, if you must know."

"My apologies," the Elf says. "I meant you no ill will."

"I know," I say lightly, casting a mischievous glance at him as I return to blotting his wound. "I just wanted to hear what your reaction would be."

Legolas gives a small roll of his eyes before muttering something under his breathe.

"What was that?" I ask pointedly. "Something you wish to say?"

"Not at all; I was simply marveling over your strange sense of humor."

I snort before balling the rag up in my hand and setting it on the ground beside me. Looking back, I find that the fire is still burning brightly. Its fiery tendrils lick into the cold night's air, hissing and spitting. For a moment I become mesmerized by the flames before turning to look at Legolas.

"It would be best if you rested," I tell him. "I'll keep watch while you sleep."

The Elf opens his mouth as if to protest, but I raise up a hand to stop him.

"Even if you were to keep watch, you would be of little help to me in your state. I am capable of defending myself."

"I am not sure I believe you," Legolas says softly. He glances down at my torso, and I follow his gaze until I am looking upon my bleeding hip.

"It is merely a scratch," I say.

"I have never known a 'scratch' to bleed so profusely."

"Honestly, Prince!" I cry, eyes widening in an effort to make my point. "I am fine." The Elf continues to look at me but makes to further comment. Sighing, I manage to heave myself an inch closer to the fire before wrapping my arms around my knees. My back to the troublesome Elf, I look out at the dark forest surrounding me. There is not a single sound emanating from its black depths. The creatures must have all fallen into slumber by now.

Oh, what I wouldn't give to be able to sleep right now.

The warmth of the fire proves to be not so much a comfort as it is a temptation. Its heat seems to lull my exhausted being into a sort of trace, and it is all I can do to keep my eyelids from sagging. My muscles feel like jelly, as if my body might collapse in on itself at any moment.

If only the fire was warm enough to thaw out the icy wasteland inside my soul.

I shudder as a particularly fierce gust of wind howls through the forest. The fire dims down severely before, much to my horror, dispersing into the frigid air.

"No!" I cry out, and my arms fall from my knees.

_This cannot be happening. Not right now._

Tears threaten to spill over onto my cheeks, but I fight them back with all I have left in me. As my father always told me, weeping was for the weak of heart.

But right now, I am one of those people.

Curling up into a tight ball, I tug my thin Elvish garments tight to me. It was stupid not to dress in anything warmer, but I had not planned on being put in this position to start with. My teeth chatter together as I force my stinging eyes to stay open, praying that, somehow, Legolas and I might make it through the…

"Keira."

Legolas's voice catches me completely off guard, and I jump slightly. I use my arms to push myself into a sitting position before turning to look at him.

"What?" I ask, hugging my arms tight to my chest.

"Come here."

I frown before dragging myself over next to him.

"Is something wrong?" I inquire, looking over at his shoulder.

"Yes," he says, a hint of annoyance tinging his words. "You are being a fool, though if you plan on freezing to death, you are off to a most wonderful start."

"Well how else am I supposed to keep warm?" I cry. "The fire's gone out, and there is no way I'm going to be able to…" My voice falters upon noticing the look the Elf gives me. Blinking with surprise at his strange expression, my vision slowly moves downward until I find myself staring at the multiple cloaks adorning the Prince's lap. He can't be wanting me to take one, being he needs them more than I do, and that leaves only one other option…

_Oh no, _I think, eyes bugging. _He cannot possibly be suggesting that I…_

"Keira!" he barks, and I glance nervously up at him. His eyes seem to glow cobalt, matching with the steely tone of his voice.

Of course, the Prince is right. I probably would get frostbitten and die if I carried on with my original plan, but the mere thought of the latter option sends my fragile nerves into a tizzy.

"I…uh, do you mean that—um—you want me to…"

"Yes, Keira," he states, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Actually, it is in a way, although my human mind cannot quite seem to compute the fact.

Slowly, I begin to inch closer towards the Elf. I force my eyes to brave his hard stare and, not wanting to make the situation any more awkward than it already is, decide to get it over with and slide up next to him. Our arms press tightly together as I lean against him, and Legolas offers me one of the cloaks. I take it gratefully before spreading it across my lap. Between the Elf's body heat and the warmth of the cloak, all traces of cold seem to disappear from my body.

"Rest now," Legolas says blandly. "No Orc would dare enter these parts during a snowstorm. There is no need to keep watch." I nod to him before gently tipping my head back against the bark. A sigh of contentment escapes my lungs before I can stop it, but Legolas seems not to notice. The Elf's eyes are closed, his features soft, and if I did not know better I would think him to already be asleep. I watch him for a moment before, much to my own surprise, I speak.

"Thank you, Legolas," I say softly. One of the Elf's eyes opens into a thin slit.

"Whatever for?" he asks lowly. Our bodies are so close together that I can feel the vibrations of his words.

"For everything. If it weren't for you, I would be dead."

"As would I if you had not come looking for me." His eyebrows raise up. "Why, in fact, did you come after me, Keira of Brunsfarrow? I am most certain that you ventured out here against my father's will, did you not?"

"Yes," I reply meekly, gazing out into the depths of the forest. "I heard some of the guards talking outside of my quarters. They spoke of hearing a ruckus near the eastern border, yet the search party found no sign of the dawn patrol…" I glance up at Legolas, my pale green gaze meeting with his. "Tell me the truth, Legolas; who is she, and why did you go after her?"

At the mention of the word 'she', the Prince's body tenses up. His eyes flash with an unreadable emotion, and he sets his jaw purposefully.

"That is none of your concern, nor shall it ever be."

The tone in which he talks is similar in many ways to the one used by his father, Thranduil, and just as imposing. But I cannot back down now; not when I have already brought up the subject.

"Legolas," I say. "You can tell me; I shall make no mention of it to anyone."

The Prince sighs heavily, and a pained expression flickers across his face. I take that as an answer and press him no longer.

"Well, if you will not tell me that, than at least explain how you knew my father? If I recall correctly, you gave me your word that you would tell me."

Legolas turn his head until he is facing me directly.

"If _I _recall, you had been instructed to rest." The Elf's hot breath smells of mint as he speaks, contrasting the dull, woody scent of the forest around us.

"I am not a youth as to be instructed when to sleep," I counter. "But I might be at peace enough to do so if you but answered my question." The Elf shakes his head in irritation before looking ahead once more.

"Many years ago, your father was cornered by an Orc pack near the borders of Mirkwood. He had but one choice, and that was to flee into the forest. Back then, the woods were a dark place, much more dangerous than they are now, for there was a great evil inhabiting the fortress of Dol Guldur. The Dark Lord himself had taken residence in the crumbling structure and had a great number of Orcs patrolling the Woodland Realm.

"Byron fled deep into Mirkwood, but the Orc pack was relentless. It was by sheer luck that my patrol found him, or he would have most likely been killed. We helped Byron defeat the foul beasts and, upon his request, escorted him back to the boundaries of the forest. He wanted to know more about our race, though there was not much that we could tell him. To give out too much information would be a risk that none of us were willing to take."

Legolas pauses to catch a breath, and I take a moment to ponder over his words. How strange that I am hearing this story not from my father, but from the very Elf that saved his life.

"And… what of his death?" I ask with a heavy heart. "How did you see him die, Legolas?"

"My father had sent me and several other Elves to investigate reports of a large amassing of Orcs in the forbidding land of Mordor. We witnessed a group of men trailing a herd of deer towards the Ash Mountains, and it was only shortly after when the Orcs come upon them." The Elf's next words are barely a whisper. "The fight, if one would dare to call it that, was over in moments. There was nothing to be done."

We sit in a tense silence that seems to last for an age. His words relieve an enormous amount of pressure that has been weighing down on me, but at the same time open up new wounds. My father had never told me about his meetings with Legolas, or any of the wood-elves for that matter. Why?

That is something I shall never know.

"Thank you for telling me," I whisper to the Prince. The Elf, however, appears to have already fallen asleep. His breathing is heavy and even, and I find myself observing the way his chest rises and falls with every breath. He looks so different from the Elf I am used to knowing; so peaceful and serene and not at all imposing.

_Perhaps you might look like that one day, _I think to myself as I close my eyes. _When all is said and done. _

I am on the verge of slumber when I hear it. The low, hollow sound that is clearly distinctive from the screaming of the wind. It echoes through the landscape, moving a flock of blackbirds to flee from the tree in which they are perched, cawing with alarm. My eyes flutter open, and I feel my fingers inch towards the sword lying on the ground beside me. The dark of the night and flurries of snow prohibit me from seeing more than a foot in front of me, but there is no mistaking the two globular yellow eyes that shine out from admist the shadows.

"What have we here?" drawls a deep, ragged voice. "I have not seen a human in these parts for many years, especially one so… familiar." The eyes narrow slightly, and I watch as a glittering fanged smile spreads out from beneath them.

I recognize that face.

The beast cackles, and its next words send daggers of fear stabbing into my heart.

"Keira of Brunsfarrow; alas, we meet again."

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><p><strong>CLIFFHANGER! *insert suspenseful music here* A big thank you to all who have read or are currently reading my story, and feel free to review! I love hearing from you all! :) <strong>


	7. Encounter

**Author's note**: I'm back! :) Hope you all enjoy the chapter!

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><p><em>No. This is not possible. He… <em>it _cannot be here; not now, not ever!_

"Carca." The name tastes as vile as poison as it slides over my tongue.

The flurries of snow subside a little, just enough so that I am able to take in the beast's stormy silhouette. His watchful yellow eyes observe me for a moment before traveling down to gaze upon the form of Legolas lying beside me.

"Oh, how lovely," says the creature. "I see that you've made friends with one of the Wood-elves." His black nose wrinkles as if having smelt something unpleasant. "His life force is dim; what a shame it would be if he were to die from his injuries."

I swipe at the beast with my sword, but he bounds back before the blade can make contact. Carca's eyes glint savagely, and anger comes to rise within me.

"So this is how you want to play?" The creature chuckles, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. "Foolish girl; to turn on such an old and… _powerful _acquaintance is most unwise." My heart pounds at a rapid pace, and suddenly I feel lightheaded.

_Do not fear, Keira._ _He will only sense it as weakness._

"It is you who are the foolish one, beast. My skills with the sword may not be the finest, but I know well enough how to slit a Black Wolf's throat."

"Do you now? How very interesting."

"Silence!" I hiss. Slowly, I pull the cloak off of my lap and lift myself into a standing position. I extend the sword out towards the massive wolf, and he eyes it warily.

"Go now if you value the breath in your lungs, for I hold the power to take it from you."

"Feisty one, you are," Carca purrs. "Your father was just like you. It is a shame that he had to be taken from you, and at so young an age." The beast's eyes glint with malice. "He could have lived many more years if not for that… unfortunate series of events."

"I'm not as dumb as you may think, Carca. I know that it was you who informed the Orcs of Byron's leave of the city."

"Me?" Carca actually looks wounded. "How could you possibly believe such a thing? I tried to warn him against going on that hunt, but he did not listen to me. Your father betrayed my trust and threatened to kill me if I dared to stop him."

My jaw locks in anger. "You value your own life too much to risk being slain on such a dangerous expedition. Do not speak of my father in such ways, for he was braver than you could ever be. You did not know him as I did."

The creature smiles widely.

"Oh, I _did _know him, Keira of Brunsfarrow." Carca's next words are scarcely above a whisper. "I knew him well enough to have the good sense to kill you. His lineage must not be allowed to persevere in the form of his one, ignorant child. You must not be allowed to grow into the murderer that he became."

"My father was no murderer," I say. "He simply did what was right to protect our people."

Carca's black muzzle wrinkles in irritation.

"Your father killed all that was left of my race," he snarls.

"Only in self-defense," I retort. "It was you who broke the agreement between our peoples. Both our races lived in peace before you came along. You were the one who authorized the raids on our city; you were the one who condemned your kin to death."

Carca's eyes narrow into menacing golden slits, and his fangs bare as he speaks.

"My pack was half-starved; we all were driven mad with hunger."

"Mad enough that your raiding party killed two of our guards!" I snap. "You were smart enough to learn our language, Carca; perhaps if you had instead tried to negotiate with our leaders, things might have gone differently."

The wolf roars in anger before lunging forward. I grasp the hilt of the sword with both hands, preparing to sink the blade deep into the beast's chest.

Carca seems to realize his mistake and manages to change direction midair. He raises up a paw and swipes it into my hands, knocking the blade from my grasp. The sword skids across the ground before coming to rest several feet away. The wolf grins with malice before glancing over at the still form of the Elf.

"Touch him and I swear you shall never move again!" I cry, and Carca chuckles.

"A bold statement, but bravery cannot save him now."

I try to make a move for the sword, but my legs appear to be frozen in place. No matter how hard I try, my limbs will not respond.

"Prince!" I cry. "Wake up!"

The Elf does not wake, and horror sweeps over me as Carca's lips curl into a smile.

"Prince?" he drawls. "So this is the heir to the famed Elven king of Mirkwood?" His eyes glitter as he gazes down at Legolas's unmoving body, and my very blood seems to turn to ice in my veins.

"I always liked the taste of royal blood."

And with that he sinks his fangs into the Elf's neck.

"_No!_"

My eyes fly open, stinging from the icy tears that have begun to drip down from my lashes. Blinking rapidly, I let out a small gasp when I see the fair face only inches from mine.

"Do not fear, Keira. It was only a dream, nothing more."

_Legolas! He's alive!_

"Legolas?" I say, my voice ragged. The Elf gives a small smile.

"I would hope so," he replies. Then, upon noticing my frantic expression, his brow furrows. "There is no need to be afraid. Whatever troubled your sleep is gone now."

"I know," I say quietly. "I know. It just felt… so real."

"But it is not." The Prince's face is soft in the golden light of dawn. The sun has just barely begun to creep through the treetops, its pale rays being a welcome change from the cold light of the moon.

"The sun has risen," I say softly. The Elf nods before rising up from his crouched position. My eyes catch onto a patch of dark red staining the bandage on his shoulder, and I immediately feel sick.

_Has the wound become infected? Should I have tended to it more during the night?_

"I am fine," Legolas states, as if reading my thoughts. "My shoulder has already begun to heal. There is nothing to worry about." There is something in his tone that makes me think otherwise, and I raise an eyebrow. The Prince returns the movement, his blue eyes bright with interest.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

I make to reply. Instead, I push one arm against the trunk of the tree and manage to get to my feet. My back is stiff and sore from having been propped up against the tree, and it is a relief to be standing once more.

But amidst the relief, an aching pain has slowly begun to give rise from my hip. It is not agonizing by any means, but I have to turn my face away in order to hide a grimace. The sword wound from the day before had completely slipped my mind until now.

_It is just a scratch; nothing to worry about, _I assure myself, but that does not take away the dread growing in the pit of my stomach.

What if it's not?

I shake my head clear of the thought before turning back to look at Legolas.

The intensity of the Elf's stare makes me feel strangely hollow, almost as if he can see straight through me. Like I am made of glass instead of flesh and blood. An open window with all its secrets exposed to the dirty, groping hands of the world.

That thought in itself is enough to make me feel slightly ill.

"What are you hiding from me?" Legolas asks slowly. He narrows his eyes, the sunlight glinting off of his golden blonde hair. "Something is wrong; I can sense it in your demeanor."

I open my mouth to respond but am stopped when I see the look in his eye.

_No matter what I say, he'll just think that it's a lie._

Having considered that, I instead decide to shrug off the question entirely.

"When do you suggest that we head for the Palace?" I ask him. "Your father is very worried about you. We best not leave him in such a state for too long."

"My father is the least of my concerns," he says. His voice his soft, but I can detect the thinnest traces of annoyance threaded within his words.

"Five of my kin were with me during the Orc attack; they were driven deep into the forest by the foul beasts. I will not leave knowing that they could still be alive."

"You are being irrational," I say gently. "The King sent out Taluharn and his best warriors to look for you and your patrol. They will find them; there is no need for us to also go…"

"Us?"

The Elf's features sharpen. "No, there is not an 'us.' You will take the horse and go back to the Palace; I, in turn, will remain here to search for the others. I am skilled at tracking; it will not take me long to find them."

"But you are injured, Legolas! If more Orcs were to come, you would not be able to properly defend yourself. Listen to me, Prince, you must…"

Legolas shoots me a seething look, and I recoil with a frown.

"The King had scheduled for you to leave this afternoon, and he is right; the Woodland Realm is no place for a mortal girl, especially one with such a… fragile past."

His words drag along my body like sharpened knifes, carving bloody trails into my skin.

_Fragile? FRAGILE?_

Eyes flashing with anger, I take a step forward and rise up onto my toes so that we stand level with each other. His sapphire eyes flash dangerously as I thrust my face up close to his.

"Forgive me, _Prince_," I snap spitefully. "It appears that my expectations for you were too high. I thought that the Elves were supposed to be a caring people, but it seems to me that the only respectable ones are in fairytales." Our breaths mingle in the air as I hiss out my next words. "Perhaps it _would _be best if I left, if only to be free of your race altogether." I turn from him and give a sharp whistle to the grey mare. The horse perks up her ears before trotting over to me. I grab hold of her reigns before looking back at the Elf.

"Goodbye, Legolas," I say, giving the Prince a particularly scathing look before mounting the Elven horse. My hip protests as I do so, but the anger seems to numb it somewhat as I turn the horse round.

_"Go forth with the speed of the wind," _I tell the animal in Elvish. _"We make for the Palace, where your true master is sure to await you." _My grip tightens on the reigns, preparing for the horse to gallop off into the forest. But, much to my shock, the mare does nothing. Frowning, I bend down close to her head.

_"I'm not sure you heard me correctly; I said 'go forth.'"_

The horse still does not budge, and I blink with surprise.

"Well now you've gone and done it, Keira," I mutter under my breath. "You've broken your own horse." My legs squeeze tighter onto the mare's sides, hoping to urge her forward, but to no avail. I sigh and allow my shoulders to slump forward.

So much for my dramatic exit.

"Keira."

The tone of Legolas's voice sounds annoyed, though he seems to have attempted to mask it. I roll my eyes before looking back over my shoulder.

"Yes, Legolas?"

"Gwestiel was raised by the Elves. Do you really expect her to listen to you?"

"She did the first time."

"Maybe, but she would not dare decline the command of her Prince."

I snort and look down at the horse.

"Do you hear that? He thinks you'd rather listen to him! What a ridiculous…" I trail off upon noticing the odd glint in Gwestiel's eyes. It almost looks like she's…

The horse gives out a high-pitched whinny before abruptly rearing up onto her hind legs. I shriek as my numb fingers lose their grip on the reigns, and I tumble sideways off of the animal's back. My body hits the ground with a dull thud, and I gasp as all the breath is knocked out of my lungs.

After spending a few seconds gulping in air, I roll onto me side to look at Legolas. The Elf's innocent expression is betrayed by the redness flushing his cheeks.

"You told her to do that, didn't you?" I wheeze out. The Prince's lips twitch as he replies.

"I sensed that things were getting out of hand. Gwestiel did, as well."

For a moment we stare daggers into each other before, somewhat abruptly, Legolas begins to laugh. It is an odd thing, being I have not heard the sound of true laughter for quite some time.

I like it.

"You… are the dirtiest rat of a Prince that I have ever met," I say, my lips spreading wide in a grin. I scoop up a handful of snow and pelt it at the Elf. The clump of snow collides with the side of his face, and I gasp in mock horror. Legolas goes still for a moment before slowly turning his head towards me.

There is a smile on his face.

"And you are the strangest person I have ever had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with."

The Elf strides over to me before extending out a hand. Glaring up at him, I reluctantly take it and allow him to hoist me to my feet. I dust the snow off myself before crossing my arms over my chest.

The Elf perks his eyebrows before a more serious emotion seems to overtake him, and his features harden.

"I now realize that the things I said might not have been the most considerate when it comes to your feelings, and for that I am sorry. I did not mean to…" The Elf fishes for something to say. "…wound your emotions."

I snort. "You didn't mean to 'wound my emotions'?" I shake my head. "Well, at least you attempted an apology."

"In all seriousness, Keira. I meant you no ill will."

Looking up at him, a smile tugs at the corner of my lips.

"I know," I say softly. "In fact, it is I who should be apologizing to you. It was wrong to call you down in such a manner."

Legolas's gaze ensnares mine for a long moment before he speaks once more.

"I believe that we can consider ourselves even," he says finally. "Now, if you would like to be on your way, I will grant Gwestiel permission to carry you to the Palace."

"Thank you for the offer, but there is no way that I am leaving you…_ again_." I add. "Even if you had allowed the horse carry me off, I would've come back eventually. You've gotten yourself into enough trouble as it is. If you choose to stay here, then I will as well."

The Elf opens his mouth to protest but then closes it with an audible snap.

"I would try to persuade you out of your decision," he says. "But I know that my efforts would only be in vain. You may stay here at your own risk, but be warned that we may face more dangers in the hours to come."

"Since when have I allowed the prospect of danger to stop me?"

Legolas smiles.

"Never."

I am not skilled with the bow. No, scratch that, I am absolutely _wretched _at anything vaguely similar to archery. The only reason that I caught any prey back in the Brown Lands was by setting snares.

_Stop demoralizing yourself. It's not like you can use the sword!_

My feet hardly make a sound as I creep through the snowy forest, Legolas's bow in hand. His quiver is strapped tightly across my back, filled to the brim with feathered Elvish arrows. I had refused to let him hunt, claiming that he still needed to rest. Legolas has insisted that I take his bow. I could not refuse him, being I had no supplies to set any snares.

And that is how I ended up all alone in the forest, searching for anything moving.

A low scratching sound grabs my attention, and I quickly drop down into a crouch. Glancing around, my eyes catch onto the furry shape scuffling through the foliage several feet in front of me. It is a wild rabbit. My mouth waters at the prospect of food, and I reach back and pull an arrow from the quiver. Knocking it as quietly as possible, the bow's wooden body bends as I pull back on the string. The white feathers brush against my cheek as I draw back the weapon. The steely tip is aimed just below the hare's paws. Exhaling deeply, I allow the arrow to fly.

The object whizzes through the air before colliding with clump of brambles that lie beside the creature. The animal perks its ears and raises onto its hind legs, scanning the are for danger. It still doesn't see me.

Muttering a string of curses, I reach back and pull out another arrow. Knocking it, I aim slightly to the left of the animal before taking the shot. This time, the arrow thuds into the shoulder of the unfortunate rabbit. The creature is felled where it stands, and I smile at my success.

_I hit it. I actually hit it!_

My whole being seems to glow with pride as I rush forward to claim my prize. I pull the arrow from its side and wipe the bloodied tip onto the snow.

"Sorry little guy," I mutter. "But we've got to have something eat." Its glassy marble eyes gaze back at me, open yet unseeing. Grimacing at the sight, I pick up the rabbit by its hind legs and begin to make the long trek back to where I left Legolas.

"I got a rabbit," I say upon reaching him. The Prince is currently leaning up against a tree, eyes closed in meditation. My words appear to have fallen on deaf ears.

"Legolas?"

"Shh," he tells me. Legolas appears to be listening to something, and when his eyes open, they are filled with worry.

"The trees speak of dark things," he whispers through pale lips. "Dark forces moves close; it is not long before they will be upon us."

I toss the rabbit at his feet, and the Elf glances down at it absentmindedly.

"Legolas, you need to eat," I say, my tone low and serious. "You need to keep up your strength."

He perks his eyebrows before waving me off. "Take the rabbit for yourself. I do not eat meat."

"You don't eat meat?" I cry. "Then what was the point in my going to hunt?"

"Do not forget that you yourself need to eat as well. You worry over me to much; I am not some child that is to be looked after. I am capable of fending for myself."

My lips turn down in an annoyed grimace.

"Who said I was worried?" I retort. "Now toss me a knife; I'm hungry."

In less than half an hour I have cleaned the rabbit and am roasting bits of meat over a crackling fire. The wind seems to have calmed during the early morning hours, making my job of keeping the flames alight just a little bit easier.

"So," I begin, attempting to make conversation with Legolas. The Elf has been standing beside me for a few moments, leaning back against the tree as he looks out into the forest.

"Where exactly do you plan on looking for the patrol?"

"Several miles to the south," says the Elf. "That is where we first came upon the Orcs. I shall interrogate the first beast I find. Orcs are dumb creatures, easily fooled by the prospect of being spared from death. It will tell us what is asked of it."

I sigh as I twiddle a skewered piece of rabbit meat. The orange flames lick at its sides, filling the air with the divine aroma of freshly cooked meat.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing," I tell the Elf. "What if we ourselves are ambushed? What then?"

"That will not happen," Legolas says, and I look up at him. "I am no longer distracted by the matters that once concerned me." The guarded look in his eyes surprises me, and I frown.

"And what would those matters be?"

Legolas lets out a heavy sigh. Snowflakes fall daintily onto his golden head, forming a crown of white. It makes him look strangely serene, like he is not just a part of the forest, but one with it.

It is a beautiful thing.

"Forget I said that," I tell him quickly. The Elf looks down at me, surprised, and a brief smile flickers over his face.

"The past does not matter now, does it?" he says gently. "I have dwelt in it for far too long. It is time that I move on."

Legolas closes his eyes and looks away, but not fast enough. He tried to mask it, but there is no concealing the tear that slips silently down his cheek. The Elf tries to blink away the pain of loss, but I know that he will not succeed. He never will.

My heart gives a little pang, remembering the time when I looked the same way. Slowly, I set down the meat before rising to my feet.

"You are not alone," I whisper to him. My hand travels up to rest on his shoulder, a comforting gesture, and the Prince turns to look at me. The tear's trail snakes down his cheek and glimmers in the sunlight. His eyes are downcast with sorrow.

"I know how you feel," I say. "You can't cope with it, Legolas. No one can. You just have to learn to move on."

The Prince closes his eyes as more tears threaten to escape from them. My heart yearns to take the pain away from him, but I know that this loss is something that he must cope with on his own.

"I don't understand why horrible things happen, but I believe they happen for a reason. That something, or someone, is trying to tell us something." Slowly, I reach up and dry his tear with my sleeve. "Do you ever think that? That we were put here on this earth for a greater purpose than to just live?" His irises sparkle. We are so close now that I can feel his heartbeat along with my own. Then, much to my own surprise, I find myself leaning in to plant a light kiss on his cheek. It is a quick and subtle thing, hardly lasting for more than a second, but its effect on Legolas is obvious.

The Prince's eyes fly open and ensnare my gaze almost immediately. Normally, I would find myself blushing, but somehow I feel that there is nothing to be embarrassed of. Legolas's lips are parted slightly in his shock, and he seems a bit taken aback.

_Have I angered him?_

We stare at each other for a long moment, neither one of us sure of what to say or to do. The Elf's eyes speak to me enough to compensate for his lack of words, though I know not what they mean to say. Whether the Prince is angry or gratefully remains a mystery.

After what feels like an age of silence, Legolas blinks several times before speaking up.

"It is nearing midday," the Elf states suddenly, glancing up to the sky. "We will have to move soon if we are to make good headway."

_Did he hear anything I just said? Do my words mean nothing to him?_

"I agree," I say, pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind. The Elf looks as if he wishes to say more, but instead sighs and leans back against the tree. My hand slips from his shoulder and falls limply to my side.

_You shouldn't have done that, Keira. Who knows what he might think._

A kiss on the cheek was meant only to be a comforting thing, no different from placing my hand on his shoulder. But the Wood-elves are different than the race of which I am familiar. They may not be as welcoming to such gestures.

I find myself looking back at Legolas, hoping to find some sort of emotion in his fair features. Something to tell me what in the world is going through his mind. Instead I find nothing. The Prince does not return my gaze as he stares out into the forest. Unmoving and apparently unfeeling.

I have offended him; what other reason can there be for the Elf's behavior?

The realization leaves me feeling strangely empty, and I am about to turn back to the fire when a pain, far more intense than before, stabs outward from my hip. This time, there is no hiding the agonized expression that flickers across my face. I give a sharp cry before crumpling to my knees.

Legolas is beside me in an instant. I can hear him talking to me, but the words are muffled by the horrible ringing in my ears. A strange numbing sensation washes over my body, followed by another spasm of pain. Groaning, I feel my head lull to the side before I slump over onto the ground. A hand grabs onto my arm, followed closely by another slipping around my neck.

_"Keira, hear me."_

The words are soft, spoken in the language of the Sindarin Elves. Why does he speak in Elvish when he does not yet know that I can understand it? My eyes manage to swim into focus, if only to take in the face hovering above mine.

"Legolas, my…hip. The Orc…sword…" I choke on my own words as a thick, wet substance begins to give rise in my throat. Blood.

The Elf's eyes widen in horror upon noticing the red liquid dribbling out from the corners of my mouth. I feel his hand slip from my neck before drifting down to hover above my injured hip. One of his fingers slides smoothly across the wound, and I gasp with pain. A dark black substance rubs off onto his fingertips, stinking in the fresh morning air. Legolas looks down at his hand before turning to me with horrorstruck eyes. He whispers a single word, so soft that it is barely discernible from the whistling of the wind.

"Poison."

* * *

><p><strong>Yippee! Another cliffhanger to torture you all with! *evil laughter* And there's sure to be more were this came from… *eviler evil laughter* OH! and before I forget, the mysterious 'her' character that I keep referring to WILL BE REVEALED in later chapters. So no worries! All will be explained in time :)<strong>

**Feel free to review, and thanks for reading! **


	8. Poisoned

_Author's note: I'm back again! Hope you all enjoy the new chapter! _

* * *

><p>"P—poison?"<p>

The Elf makes no reply but instead gathers my limp form in his arms. I cry out as another wave of pain spreads out from the sword wound, and my head lulls onto his shoulder. My eyes squeeze shut as tears threaten to spill out onto my cheeks.

"Keira, hear me now. You must remain awake. To fall asleep now would guarantee your death."

"What?" I ask, eyes fluttering open. My voice sounds wet as blood bubbles out from the corners of my mouth. My mind may be fogged by the toxins that harbor in my veins, but the prospect of dying is enough to make me hyperventilate. "I'm going to…"

"Shh," he says, silencing me with a finger to my lips. "Do not speak and do not move. That will only make the poison spread faster." The softness of his tone calms me, and I manage to even out my erratic breathing. The Elf glances out into the forest, an expression of anxiety crossing his features.

"We most go back to the Palace," he whispers, almost as if he were talking to himself. Legolas closes his eyes for a brief moment before letting out a strained sigh. He manages to get to his feet and, clutching my body tight to his chest, gives a sharp command to Gwestiel. The horse whinnies in response before quickly cantering over to him. Legolas mumbles soothing words in the mare's ear before lifting me onto her back. My hip screams out in protest, and it is all I can do to contain a moan.

The Prince then hoists himself up onto the saddle behind me.

"Lean back," he says. I obey without protest and allow my back to slump against him. Legolas drapes one arm loosely around my waist before reaching forward and grabbing hold of the reigns with the other. My eyes widen with fear and pain as the Elf shouts out a loud command to the horse.

"Noro lim!"

And with that we ride.

* * *

><p>Pain. Burning, aching pain. I am screaming, but no sound escapes my throat. Never could I have imagined what it would be like to be poisoned. It is the most painful thing I have ever experienced, exceeding even the massive wolf bite I took to the shoulder several years past. I feel as though my body is burning itself alive from the inside out.<p>

_Will it never end? _I think to myself as the forest blurs past. The Elven horse, Gwestiel, thunders across the uneven terrain with Legolas and me atop her. She pauses not even for the sake of breath and has begun to wheeze viciously in the chilled air. Yet she continues to push on.

As do I.

_We can make it, Gwestiel. We can make it..._

"Are you awake, Keira?"

Legolas's tone is urgent. He has taken up to asking me the same question every minute, and for that I am grateful. If it were not for him, I would have most likely found myself dozing off.

"Yes," I say softly, just loud enough that I am able to be heard, for it hurts even to speak. The Elf seems to catch onto the pain in my voice, and his arm tightens around my waist as Gwestiel leaps over a particularly large fallen log.

As soon as the horse's hooves meet the ground, a horrible scream explodes from her lungs. She jerks to an abrupt halt and rears up, nearly throwing us off. Pain from my hip explodes like a chemical reaction, and I let out a hollow wail. The Elf stiffens at the noise, but both he and the horse seem to have sensed something that I do not. Legolas slides his arm from my waist in order to draw his bow. He has nocked an arrow before I have a chance to question his motives.

Then, suddenly, I understand. My gaze locks onto a pair of glittering eyes looking out from the forest several feet ahead of us. I place them almost immediately.

They belong to a Warg.

Legolas exhales deeply before allowing his arrow to fly. It whizzes past my ear and finds its mark right in between the creature's gleaming eyes. The Warg lets out a yowl before stumbling back several steps and eventually toppling over. Another, much uglier shape is thrown roughly from its back in the process. An Orc.

"Legolas," I wheeze. "There's a…"

I don't see the need to finish my sentence, for Legolas has just as quickly strung another arrow and sent it thudding into the foul beast's chest.

"Scouts," he says, his words dripping with annoyance and anger. "Forth!" he commands Gwestiel, and the horse lunges forward once more.

"I fear that they will not be alone, and I require both my hands in order to use the bow. Take hold of the reigns."

I nod stiffly and allow Legolas to slip them into my own hands. My fingers curl around the reigns in order to prevent them from slipping out of my sweaty palms.

"As long as I have breath within me, no more harm will come to you," the Elf tells me strongly. I crane my neck up to look him in the eye and find that he is staring down at me. A smile flickers across my lips, though it does not quite reach my eyes.

"I do not know if you can promise that," I say, blinking softly. A convulsion rocks my body, and I wince. A far off baying sound alerts the Prince, but while he turns to look at the forest, I continue to gaze up at him.

"Legolas, I fear that..." Another convulsion, stronger than the first, spasms throughout my muscles.

"Keira?" the Prince asks, his voice low and questioning.

My next words are barely audible.

"I don't think that I can make it."

"The Palace is not far now," the Elf counters. "I will see to it that you get help once we arrive."

"So much pain, not enough…time."

"_Keira!"_

I glance up to find that the Prince's eyes are ablaze with fury.

_Why is he angered at me? _

"You take your strength of heart for granted," he says fiercely. "It is cowardly to believe that you are weak enough to succumb to this."

My hands clench into fists. I have been stabbed, cut, and poisoned by Orcs, yet Legolas would have the nerve to call me _cowardly? _

"Why do you speak so harshly? I am dying, Legolas!"

A sharp howl sounding from somewhere within the forest captures both our attentions. More Warg riders, I realize with a shudder. The Prince sighs before looking down at me once more.

"You are not dying," he says, his tone impatient. "With the right herbs and medicines, Orc poison can be extracted as if it were the venom of a serpent. It is not fatal unless you wish it to be so." Legolas shoots me a dark look. "Trust me on that; I have been exposed to a fair share of poisons during my lifetime. Now stop mewling and fight it!"

My heart-beat pounds angrily in my ears, elevating as anger builds within me.

Suddenly, a loud shriek explodes out from the expanse of forest to my right, and I look over just in time to see an enormous Warg bound out from over a tree root. Legolas fells the beast almost immediately with an arrow to the forehead, and its gangly Orc rider is crushed beneath the body of the wolf as it tumbles to the ground.

"Noro lim!" the Elf cries, letting yet another arrow fly as a dark brown Warg emerge to the left. The beast lets out a pained yowl as the weapon meets with its throat, killing it instantly, and Gwestiel whinnies with fright.

"What if you run out of arrows?" I manage to shout over the ruckus.

"I won't," Legolas retorts simply as he strings a third arrow.

I understand the meaning of his words when I see the looming silhouette appear on the horizon.

_The Palace! Legolas was right; we're almost there!_

Gwestiel leaps over a small stream, her hooves clattering against the pebbles lining the shore. The movement jostles me, but I no longer feel pain. Adrenaline and excitement have replaced all sense of worry and doubt. Is it possible that the Orc poison will not take me, after all?

_We're going to make it! We're actually going too—_

An agonizing crunch sounds from beneath me, interrupting my thoughts, and Gwestiel lets out a terrible scream. The horse's front legs buckle beneath her, and the reigns slip from my grasp as she tumbles to the ground. Legolas just manages to wrench me off of the animal before I am dragged down with her. I roll down onto the forest floor and cringe as my skin meets with the coldness of snow.

Another piteous shriek escapes the Gwestiel's lungs as she attempts to regain her footing. Upon falling, the horse gives a low moan before collapsing onto her side. My stomach churns when I see the massive black arrow jutting out from just below her right shoulder. Blood stains the pearly white fur surrounding the wound an ugly shade of red.

"Gwestiel!" I hear Legolas cry. The Elf had slid off the horse just before she fell and now kneels before her. His expression is one of pure horror as he strokes the animal's thin face.

_No. No, no, no! This cannot be happening!_

Squeals of glee sound from somewhere deep in the forest, and I manage to lift myself up from the ground in order to make out the dark silhouettes forming a wide circle around us.

"Legolas," I croak. The Prince looks over at me, and I gesture to the surrounding forest. He gives a solemn nod before getting to his feet.

"Gwestiel can bear us no longer," he says darkly. The Elf then reaches over his shoulder before tossing me something. I snatch it out of the air and carefully unwrap the brown cloth folded around it. My eyes widen upon discovering that it is an Elven horn.

"Why have you not… spoken of this…before?" I manage to wheeze out.

"I did not want to alert the Orcs to our position, but it seems that my efforts were futile." Legolas's next words are deadly serious. "Blow the horn, Keira. You must try to make for the Palace. I will do my best to fend off the Orcs."

The thought of walking, especially such a long distance, seems almost as ridiculous as flying.

"Legolas, I can hardly feel… my legs," I stammer out, my thoughts jumbling together as my vision fades in and out of focus. "Walking would be… impossible."  
>Legolas seems to realize the dilemma and sighs shakily. "The horn. Blow it, now."<p>

Just as he finishes speaking, an Orc leaps out from behind him, dagger raised in preparation to stab his back. The Elf is prepared, however, and easily dodges the swipe before shooting an arrow into the foul beast's head. No sooner does the Orc fall down dead that three others emerge from the depths of the forest, each harboring gleaming black swords. I watch, helpless and frozen with fear, as they begin to advance towards him. Legolas reluctantly abandons his bow before reaching back and unsheathing his twin Elven blades. He takes on a defensive posture, knives extended out from his body in an imposing manner.

"Now, Keira!" Legolas cries before rushing at the Orcs. Something within me seems to click, and, mustering up all the strength left in me, I raise the horn to my lips and blow.

And then there is nothing but the blackness.

* * *

><p>I am not afraid of the dark, but I do loathe it.<p>

Floating aimlessly through the black, I wish only to be rid of it. I have been here before, in this strange state of being, after my first encounter with Legolas. But this time seems different. The prying black tendrils of night seem more reluctant to let me leave. Their many limbs threaten to consume me and wrench me from the world altogether. If they were to succeed, the long road to the Halls of Mandos would be the only thing awaiting me on the other side.

I will not let them take me. I still have something to prove; both to myself, and to Legolas. He thought it to be cowardice that drove me to believing that I was to die, and it was. Cowardice and fear for what lay ahead.

How could I have been so foolish? Death is the one thing I grew up dreading, yet I would so easily give myself to it in order to be free of pain?

No. That will not happen now, and it will _never _happen in the years to come.

"Release me!" I shout. "I will not succumb!"

The darkness seems almost to growl in irritation, and its many fingers begin to dance along the wound on my hip. They lick at it cruelly, scattering drops of red onto their black tongues. My head tips back, and for a moment I think that I might scream.

_No. Do not give them the satisfaction._

Instead, I bite down hard on my lip and attempt to block out the pain.

_You are going to die, _a small, antagonizing voice whispers in my mind. _Here is where you will meet your end, being tortured in the depths of a darkness blacker than any night. This is death._

_NO! _

The ferocity of my mind voice alone is startling. I force my eyes to remain open, if only to stare rebelliously into the darkness that keeps me prisoner.

"I will get out," I hiss at it. "Do not think that you have won."

The black tendrils recoil a bit, and I smile at my success. Whatever this darkness is, whether it be an actual being or a state of mind, I seem to be having some sort of effect on it.

_"Keira."_

What? Who's there?

Blinking in confusion, I squint up at the starless expanse of black. Did someone just say my name?

_"The light has not forsaken you. Come back to it and be welcomed."_

There it is again! How in the name of the Valar am I hearing this?

"Hello?" I call out tentatively.

_"You must find the light, Keira. Find it and return; do not accept the darkness."_

It is a distinctly male voice, and the fluidity of the words suggest that he is an Elf, yet not one that I have met before. Who, then, is he?

"Who are you?" I ask. "_Where _are you?"

_"I am right beside you. Wake and you will find me."_

I feel something brush across my arm. A hand? No, that's impossible. Nothing of the sort can reach me here…

Can it?

"Something touched me. Was that you?"

_"Come back, Keira."_

His words grow hollow in my ears until they are nothing but a continuous echo.

_"Come back."_

_"Come back."_

That is when I see it. The tiny sliver of light amidst the dark abyss. It is but a faint glow, yet it burns with the ferocity of the sun itself.

"I found it," I whisper. "It's right here in front of me."

_"Follow it."_

And I do.

* * *

><p>Birds. That is the first thing I hear. Their sweet melodies fill my ears with song and happiness, and I know immediately that I have won. That I have escaped the clutches of the darkness.<p>

Sighing with relief, my eyes flutter open and immediately take in the form of a person sitting next to me. The image is wavering, and it takes a moment for my vision to swim into focus.

"Hello, Keira."

The soft tone matches with the voice I heard during my time in the darkness. I blink rapidly in an attempt to clear the layer of fog from my eyes. When I succeed, I am able to see the person in clarity.

He is an Elf, as I had suspected, and is currently sitting on a chair beside the bed in which I lay. Long, dark brown hair falls down over his shoulders, and a thin silver headpiece adorns his forehead. His eyes are as gray as mist yet shine as bright as the stars, and while his face is aged compared to Legolas's flawless skin, the wrinkles only seem to make him look all the more warm and welcoming.

The Elf smiles kindly at me, and I can't help but return it.

"Were you the one who helped me?" I ask somewhat meekly.

"Yes," he replies, dipping his head to me. "I am Elrond, Lord of Imladris, the Last Homely House. In the common tongue, it is also known as Rivendell."

My heart quite nearly skips a in _the _Lord Elrond?"

"My Lord Elrond," I say. "It is an honor." Then, looking around at my surroundings, I continue. "If you don't mind me inquiring, where exactly _am _I?"

"You are, in fact, _in _Rivendell, Miss Whitam."

_ Rivendell? _How on earth did I end up in _Rivendell?_

"What?" I ask, head spinning in disbelief. "But… how? How is that possible? Last I knew, I was in Mirkwood, and there were Orcs and…" I stop short, and my eyes widen in horror as I turn to look at the Elf. "Prince Legolas, he was with me! Where is he now? Has he been injured?"

Lord Elrond chuckles at my reaction before patting my hand reassuringly.

"No, no; he is quite alright. Granted, he is perhaps a bit bruised from his encounter with the Orcs, but nothing that an Elf of his stature cannot handle."

A sigh of relief escapes my lips. Legolas is alive and well, but there are several more questions that still remain unanswered.

"Taluharn and a group of wood-elves brought you to Rivendell yesterday," Elrond says, as if reading my mind. "I had been told that you were very ill after having been poisoned by an Orc blade. Legolas seemed quite concerned for your wellbeing and had insisted that Thranduil allow Taluharn to take you here in order to be healed."

"That is a very long journey from the Woodland Realm. Surely my wounds could have been treated by the Wood-elves instead?"

"The Wood-elves are not as skilled with medicine," Elrond tells me. "The poison in your veins was too great to be countered by the herbs that grow in Mirkwood. If you were to live, then the only way to spare your life was to bring you here. Legolas informed me that Thranduil had insisted upon sending you to a human settlement near Mirkwood instead, but he had managed to persuade the King into leaving you here; at least for the time being, until your wounds have fully healed. I have managed to rid most of the poison from your system, and…"

I'm not listening to him anymore. As the Elf speaks, my mind is somewhere far, far away from him, drifting in a land of thought and worry.

_Does he mean to say that Legolas left me here in order to be rid of me? After all we have been through, would the Prince really abandon me so hastily?_

"You are worried, and understandably so," Elrond says suddenly, and I jerk at his loud tone. My thoughts careen violently off track, and I curse under my breath.

"Forgive me, my lord," I say, shaking my head. "This whole scenario is quite befuddling; I can hardly concentrate."

The Elf looks at me sympathetically before rising up from his chair.

"There is something else that you should know." Elrond strides over to a thin archway to the far side of the white-walled room before disappearing out of it. I cock my head and blink with curiosity.

_Where has he gone?_

Elrond returns after a few moments, but he is no longer alone. My heart hammers against my chest as I recognize the person following him.

"Taluharn," I say, smiling brightly at him. But, much to my surprise, the Elf shoots me a cold glance before looking away. My smile begins to fade and is soon replaced by a frown. Lord Elrond whispers something in the Elf's ear before turning back to me.

"Taluharn wishes to speak with you," he says simply. "Farewell. I will return within the hour in order to check on your condition." He then vanishes out of the archway, leaving me alone with Taluharn.

The Elf and I remain in an uncomfortable silence for quite some time before I work up the courage to look up at him. He meets my gaze with a steely one of his own before taking the seat Elrond had sat in moment earlier.

"You were foolish to leave the Palace," he chastises, eyes boring into me. "Your actions could have cost my patrol and many others their lives. It was by the good grace of the Valar that no one was injured or killed during the fight with the Orcs."

"Legolas would have died if I hadn't gone after him," I retort. "I knew where to look, and you did not. It would have taken your patrol hours, maybe even days to find him. By that time it would have been too late."

"_Prince _Legolas does not need the assistance of a mortal girl," Taluharn snaps, and I recoil at his harsh tone. The Elf's eyes show little to no remorse, though his tone is less severe as he continues. "The King had ordered our finest trackers to be sent out to search for him. They had nearly caught up to him before you came along."

Anger begins to give rise within me, and I fail at my attempt to calm myself.

"Is that what he told you?"

Taluharn seems a bit taken aback by my question, which does nothing but infuriate me more.

"Are your words your own, or did Legolas tell you to say this?" I demand.

"The Prince hardly spoke at all upon his return," the Elf replies lowly. "I myself have not seen him so secluded and distant since…" Taluharn seems to slip on his words, and I raise an eyebrow.

"Since what?" I ask, leaning towards him slightly. Much to my relief, the movement does not cause me pain. The Elf appears to have dug himself into an inescapable pit, for there is no avoiding my question. He does not reply for a long moment and instead stares of at a point somewhere far, far in the distance.

"Since she died," he states finally.

I am quiet for a moment before asking, "Who was she?"

A pained expression flickers across the Elf's features, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"Her name was Lothiriel. She was a formidable warrior amongst the Silvan Elves." Taluharn sighs once more. "The Prince loved her greatly. They had kept their feelings for one another a secret from the rest of us, especially the King. Legolas knew that Thranduil would not be accepting of his love for a lowly Silvan Elf."

Another pause, this time much longer.

"How did she die?" I ask quietly.

"She was believed to be overcome by an Orc pack during a routine patrol. Legolas was preoccupied with fights of his own; there was nothing that could be done to help her." The Elf shudders as a cool breeze stirs throughout the room. "The body was never found. He went on searching her for days, months, even years. As did I."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Why did you go looking? What sort of connections do you—did you-have with her?"

I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth.

"She was my sister," the Elf says solemnly.

_What have you done, Keira?_

"I am so sorry," I whisper. "I should not have asked."

"Do not apologize," replies the Elf. "She passed many, many moons ago, not even a year after the destruction of the dragon Smaug."

_That was nearly twenty years past, _I think to myself. _Yet Taluharn has learned to cope with her death while Legolas has not?_

"Legolas may have loved her greatly, but why does he continue to look for her while he knows full well that she is dead?"

"That I cannot say," says Taluharn. "Some think that he believes her to be taken prisoner, as her body was never recovered, but even one so strong as she could not survive in the dark gloom of an Orc dungeon for more than a single moon. The Eldar are creatures of light; we do not do well when exposed to such… darkness."

A clear horn blast sounds from somewhere outside the archway, startling me. Taluharn glances over his shoulder before getting to his feet once more.

"I must go; the Prince gave orders for us to leave you here once you had awoken."

"And when I am well again, what then?"

"We shall see." Taluharn gives me a short bow. "Farewell, Keira." He then begins to make for the archway.

"Taluharn!" I call, slipping my legs off the side of the bed. The Elf freezes midstride before turning to look at me.

"Yes?"

The floor is cold beneath my bare feet as I take several shaky steps towards him. No pain comes from my hip, yet my body is still weakened by the aftereffects of the poison. My pale skin feels strangely exposed without the silken fabric of the sheets as a covering, for I am clothed in only a thin Elven gown.

"Will I ever see you again?" I ask, coming to a stop in front of the Elf. He is a good head or so taller than me, but I try to ignore the height difference as I stare deeply into his green eyes. Taluharn gazes back at me, and for a moment his expression is as hard as iron. But then I see the corners of his lips tug upwards into a small smile.

"I have not the gift of foresight," he says. "But I pray that one day we may meet again." Taluharn puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. "You have a kind heart, Keira; do not forget that." I smile up at him place my hand over top his.

"Thank you, Taluharn," I reply. His eyes sparkle in the light of the morning sun as it streams through the room's many windows. The Elf holds my gaze briefly before removing his hand from my shoulder and vanishing through the archway.

And, just like that, he is gone.

I stride over to the archway and peer out to see the Elf making his way down a flight of stairs and into a courtyard. A group of five Elves, all atop horses, await him there. One horse, however, remains without a rider. Its pelt is a pearly white color, and I immediately think of Gwestiel. My last memory of the horse was when an ugly black Orc arrow was jutting out of her shoulder.

_I should have asked Taluharn about her. If she survived her wound._

It is too late now, though.

Several other Elves, natives to Rivendell, I would guess, stand off to the side in order to farewell the patrol. Elrond is among them, and he raises a hand as Taluharn mounts a gray horse.

_"May the stars shine bright for you," _he says in Elvish, and Taluharn gives him a stout nod. The Elf then turns round his horse before ushering it down a long arch bridge leading to a path running along a cliff side. His patrol follows closely behind, and in a matter of moments they have disappeared around a bend in the pathway.

"Farewell," I whisper after them. Turning away from the opening, I stride over to a small balcony on the far side of my chambers. Its clear glass doors are swung wide, allowing a gentle breeze to wafe into the room. The smell of various trees and flower blossoms fills my nose as I step out onto the platform. It overhangs the rest of the city, giving me an exquisite view of the beautiful Elven structure.

_Perhaps it is best that they brought you here. Perhaps it is best that Legolas chose to send you here for the time being instead of keeping you in Mirkwood._

But the idea of staying here, even though the city's inhabitants seem perfectly friendly, is not at all tolerable. I can't help but feel like there's something here that's missing. Something that should be here but is not.

"Why did you do this, Legolas?" I ask aloud, looking up to the sky. It is aglow with the colors of dawn. "Why did you bring me here instead of sending me to that city?"

"Perhaps he knew that you would be welcomed here."

The voice is gentle, but no less disrupting. I jump in surprise and am about to turn to face the speaker before I realize that I know the voice. How I know it, I cannot say, but it familiar nonetheless.

My heart leaps up into my throat as I spin on heel to look at the person.

A woman stands before me, clothed in an emerald green dress that brings out the teal color of her eyes. There is no mistaking the pointed ears sticking out from underneath her raven-colored hair. The Elf's gaze is soft yet intense, and I blink rapidly.

I have seen those eyes before.

"Do I know you?" I ask quickly, taking a nervous step back. The she-elf's fair face softens for a moment as she clasps her hands in front of her.

"At one time, yes," she says. "You may not recognize me now, but I remember you." The Elf closes her eyes momentarily, and when she opens them once more, they are glittering with tears. "I remember."

My pulse races, and suddenly I feel light-headed.

"Who are you?" I say, though I am not quite sure that I want to know the answer.

"Among the Elves I am called Faelwen." She takes a step towards me, and that's when I notice that her eyes are not teal-colored as I once that. They are green; as green as the grass that grows on the rolling hills of the Shire to the west.

Beautiful eyes.

Familiar eyes.

_My_ eyes.

_No. It can't be._

"You, however, once called me by another name." We are the same height now that she has stepped out onto the balcony; surprising, being every Elf I have met so far towers over me. Our eyes meet, and in that moment I know. I know who she is, though it may seem impossible, even before she speaks again.

"Keira… I am your mother."

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><p><strong> I know that I'm just the meanest author ever for leaving you all with yet ANOTHER cliffhanger, but patience is a virtue, right? RIGHT?! Right. So yeah… have fun with it! And once again, a big thank you to all who reviewed, followed, favorited, or even just took the time to read my story! It means a lot to me! Feel free to leave some reviews, and hopefully the next update will be up soon!<strong>


	9. Dreamed

**Hello again! Sorry about the late update… I've been sick as a dog for most of the week :P Anyways, here's Chapter 9! Enjoy!**

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><p>Time seems to slow for the few moments that I stand in silence, gazing into the eyes of the raven-haired she-elf who has just claimed to be my mother. This cannot be possible… how could it be? My mother left Byron and me when I was very young. Could it be that she left early enough so that I would not know her true identity?<p>

"I… I don't understand!" I cry out. "You're an Elf? How? Why did my father never speak of this?"  
>"Shh," Faelwen soothes, placing a finger to my lips. "Do not speak so loudly. My kin do not know that I am here." She glances nervously back at the room before turning to me. "I cannot stay long, but pray do not be so quick to judge me. I left you and your father because I had no other choice."<p>

"There is always a choice," I snap back, suddenly agitated. My long lost mother, the one who abandoned me in the first place, would dare show her face again? The thought is simply infuriating. "My father loved you, whether you be of Elf-kind or not. You left us when we needed you most!"

"Hear me, daughter-"

"Do not call me daughter," I say fiercely. "You lost that right long ago." Faelwen recoils a step back, and her face pales at the expression of anger etched onto my features.

"Keira," she corrects quietly. "Please, hear me now. I loved you and your father more than words could express. He knew that I could not stay with him forever, for my kind did not approve of our love. For years I begged them to allow Byron to live among us, as we had married in secret away from Rivendell." Faelwen sighs. "But my pleas were to no avail. Lord Elrond did not allow Byron to reside here; he told me that humans were unreliable and would fail me when I needed them the most." The she-elf looks up at me with knowing green eyes. "I was left with an unborn child."

My eyes widen as I realize what that means. That child was _me._

"I have no memory of you," I tell her uneasily. "Why?"

"Because I knew you for no more than a day," she says quietly. "I had left my kin for a short while in order to be with your father. In that time, I gave birth to you. For a long, blissful year we raised you in the city of Brunsfarrow. Of course, I had to keep my identity a secret from the rest of the citizens; to them, I was a stranger that ventured to Brunsfarrow from a small settlement west of the city. Many days I spent living among them, learning their ways. Back then, I thought that Brunsfarrow would suit all my needs; I would be with you and Byron, after all.

"That is, before the Song of Illuvatar bore me home to Rivendell." The she-elf's gaze looks downward in sorrow. "I realized that, no matter what, I would never truly be happy as long as I was away from my kin. Your father, bless him, understood my reasons. And when I was moved to make the journey home, he also understood why I had to leave you with him; the Elves would not be accepting of a child with a mortal man. They would think it to be an impurity of our race." Faelwen reaches out to place a soft hand on my cheek. "But you are not, my dear. You are as pure and radiant as the sun itself. I fear that one day the pride of the Elves will be their downfall, for I know that they could not bring themselves to see how beautiful you really are."

There is a long silence between us before I speak once more.

"How did you meet?" I ask her. "Byron and you? How did you first come to know of my father?" An elegant smile graces the she-elf's pale lips.

"I was journeying to Lothlorien to visit my woodland kin when I came across him. He was hunting alone in the mountain pass." Her eyes sparkle in the sunlight, gleaming like twin emeralds. "He was a sight to behold, your father, for I had never met a human man before. His hair glittered the brightest of copper, and his eyes… oh, but his eyes were the best part of all, for they shone as bright as the stars." Faelwen strokes the hair on the base of my neck. "You have grown to be so beautiful, my dear. I see him in your eyes. Byron once told me you and I would meet again, and now I know that he has not failed me."

"Why did he not tell me about you?" I question suddenly. "Why would he hide something like this from me? For years I begged my father to tell me of you, but he never would. All he would say is that you left and would never come back." My fists clench in anger. "If you loved him at all, you would have kept him from the pain that was brought on by your leave."

"And how might've I done that?"

"By not falling for him in the first place!" I exclaim. "Elves are supposed to be wise, are they not? You of all people would know the consequences of falling in love with a mortal!"

Faelwen frowns, mirroring my own expression so closely that it sends shudders down my spine.

"I would bear many consequences for the sake of love," she whispers. "Your father was everything to me. It nearly tore my heart in two to leave him, but I knew that it had to be done. It is better to love just once, even if only for a short while, than to never love at all."

"But did you even consider what it might do to _him_?" I exclaim. "Byron had a heart, as well! And yet you would dare to be so cruel as to leave him when I was so young? The only reason that we survived was because of my father's high rank among the city guards." I shudder as a wisp of wind ruffles through my nightgown. "Though sometimes I think of his position to be more of a curse than anything else."

"Is that so?" she inquires, eyes widened with an unreadable emotion. "I always knew Byron was proud of his rank among men, and I assume that he still is. Brunsfarrow is a very lovely city; you are lucky to reside in it." My mouth falls agape in shock.

_She doesn't know, _I think. _About the Orcs, about the city. Not even about my father._

I have to tell her, no matter how hard that may be.

"Brunsfarrow was destroyed nearly a decade past," I say slowly. "The city was burned to the ground by Orcs; all of its inhabitants perished in the flames." Faelwen's face pales considerably.

"And Byron?" she asks, green eyes sparkling with concern. "What of him? Surely your father—my husband—was able to make it out alive?"

I sigh shakily as the image of his arrow-ridden body flashes in my mind.

"He did not live long enough to see Brunsfarrow fall. His hunting patrol was ambushed by Orc scouts a year earlier. They left no survivors." I gather up the courage to look the she-elf in the eye and find that she is staring at some point far off in the distance.

"How long?" Faelwen whispers. "How long has he been dead?"

"Twelve years."

Faelwen's gaze shifts to my face, and it is only then when I see the tears sparkling in her eyes.

"Keira," she whispers, "Brave, beautiful Keira. Not only did your mother abandon you, but your father is gone as well?" The Elf gathers me into her arms and presses her forehead against my own. "I should never have left you, my child. I should have born with my feelings of longing and stayed to raise you. How could I have been so foolish?"

"It was not your fault," I find myself telling her. "His death was not preventable. Not even the most skilled of warriors could have fended off such an attack."

"My thoughts do not lie with Byron." Faelwen pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. "I worry for you, Keira. Nothing can bring back the dead; I know that, but for my own child to have to cope with his passing at so young an age?" Tears stream in rivulets down Faelwen's cheeks. "How could have I been so foolish?" she repeats, squeezing me tight to her.

"Do not worry," I say. Moisture has begun to spring into my own eyes, and I feel a sob hitch in my throat. "I have learned to live alone."

"Keira," Faelwen breaths. "You have grown to be so strong, and for that I could not be more proud." The she-elf smiles half-heartedly. "I am sorry that I could not be there when you needed me the most. I do not ask your forgiveness, for I know that my actions cannot be so easily forgiven."

Faelwen gazes softly at me before frowning and glancing over her shoulder.

"I must go now," she tells me quickly. "Lord Elrond cannot know that I am here." Faelwen touches my cheek as another wave of tears spills from her eyes. "Goodbye, my dear."

And with that she is gone.

I watch her go through saddened eyes. She is my mother, and though I cannot yet forgive her for what she put my father and me through, I can feel sympathy for her. Perhaps Faelwen did have a good reason to leave us, but that surely cannot make up for the years of pain and loss Byron went through while raising me.

It will also take time for me to fully accept the fact that my mother is of Elf-kind. For all my life, the idea of having a mother was no more than an unattainable reality. But now that she is here, in the flesh, somehow I am left wishing that I had never met her. By the Valar, if the Orcs or whatever blasted creatures hadn't left me alone and wounded in Mirkwood, I would not be stuck in this predicament in the first place! Such thoughts could drive a girl to madness!

_But then you would never have met the Wood-elves, _I counter myself. _You would never have met Legolas._

Legolas.

Even the thought of his name fills me with sorrow. What I wouldn't give for the Elf to be here with me now. To put his hand on my shoulder and give me one of his rare smiles.

To make me feel like maybe, just maybe, everything might work out to be okay.

_If only._

I shake my head at the thought. Turning around to face the room, I prepare to make my way back to the comfort of the bed when I am stopped by a tall figure blocking my path. I recoil with surprise as the sunlight illuminates the gentle face of Lord Elrond. The Elf smiles upon noticing my expression.

"Forgive me for startling you," he says softly. "I meant no harm."

"It is fine," I say somewhat breathlessly. "But, if you don't mind, could I ask you something?" Elrond nods, and I continue. "How did I even make it to Rivendell? Why didn't the poison kill me?"

"Though the Wood-elves did not harbor the means to heal your wounds, they were able to use a mixture of herbs in order to induce your body into a death-like state. Your pulse slowed considerably, preventing the poison to spread any further. You remained in the dreamless slumber for the length of time it took for the Elves to ferry you to Rivendell."

"But isn't the trip a very long one?"

"Regularly, it is a five day journey, but the Wood-elves rode both day and night and were able to arrive here in three."

_Why would they bother to do that for me? Since when have I been that important?_

"They see something in you," says Elrond. His ability to read minds is uncanny, I decide with a shudder. "As do I," the Elf continues. "You are very much unlike the rest of your race."

"But how?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. "How am I different?"

Elrond's face grows serious for a moment.

"Because the blood of the Eldar runs in your veins."

_What?_

I frown at the Elf and cock my head ever so slightly.

"What?"

"I said that the blood of the Eldar runs in your-"

"No, no," I say, waving my hand at him. "I heard you correctly, but I'm afraid that you must be mistaken. Such a thing would be…"

Reality strikes me like a slap in the face. My father was a human, but as I now know, my mother was not. Faelwen was an Elf.

What does that make me?

"Do not think me to be ignorant of the identity of your mother," says Elrond. "Long has Faelwen desired to keep her doings of the past a secret, but I harbor the gift of foresight. When your mother professed her love for Byron, I looked into her future and saw that a half-elven child would be born to her."

My eyes widen at the knowing look in his eyes.

"Perhaps you were wrong?" I counter feebly.

"My foresight is never incorrect."

I go silent for a moment.

"Then I am, in fact, a half-elf."

"Your father was a human, was he not?"

I nod, and Elrond is silent for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

"You should rest now, Keira. Your body still has yet to heal from the effects of the poison."

"Why bother to go through all this trouble for a lowly half-breed?" I ask suddenly. "Why not just deny the Wood-elves and let me die? I am but an impurity, after all…"

"Do not berate yourself in such ways!"

The ferocity of Elrond's tone surprises me. So far, he has been nothing but gentle and soft-spoken, yet now I see that there is a whole different side to him that has yet to be uncovered.

"Why not?" I ask daringly.

"Because I respect you," the Elf says simply. "You were brave to go out looking for the Prince. Half-elf or not, there are not many who would dare to venture out alone in the forest of Mirkwood."

"You know about that?" I ask, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Taluharn informed me on all there was to know about your actions."

Something in his eyes tells me that he knows more about me than I would like, and I blink in order to break his powerful gaze.

"Why aren't my ears pointed?" The question is a desperate attempt to change the subject, but it must sound extremely childish to the Elf lord, judging by the look he gives me.

"Your father docked them when you were very young," he tells me. "In order to conceal your true identity as a half-elf. He feared that the people would berate you."

I instinctively raise up a hand and rub the top of my ear with my fingertips. Up until now, I had never realized that the strange bumps that line it are mounds of scar tissue brought on by such a procedure. The thought makes me ill.

"Sleep, Keira," Elrond says softly. "Your mind needs rest as well as your body."

This time, as much as I hate to admit it, the Elf is right. I am still very weak from the effects of the poison; perhaps sleep can rid me of this situation altogether.

"As you wish," I mumble before striding over to the bed. Elrond dips his head to me before sweeping out of the room, his purple robes trailing out behind him.

I am asleep within seconds.

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><p>I dream of him. The Prince.<p>

He stands on the edge of an immense cliff, overlooking the vastness of the land beneath. The country surrounding the cliff is a forest, I realize, though it is not luscious and green as the woods of Lorien. It is instead cloaked in an impenetrable darkness that sends fear prickling through my veins. Legolas, however, seems strangely unmoved by the sinister sight, for his eyes no longer look to the horizon. They are looking at me.

"Legolas," I call. "Legolas, what is going on?"

"Keira," says the Elf, his gentle blue gaze unwavering despite the sorrow hidden within his voice. "You should not be here."

"What is it?" I ask softly, taking a cautious step towards him.

The Prince gazes at me for a moment before looking away.

"I do not want any harm to come to you. It would be in your best interest to leave now."

"Where are we? What is this place?"

_"LEAVE!"_

The power and ferocity of the Elf's tone sends me scuttling back several steps.

"Legolas," I whisper. "Please. Tell me what is wrong!"

Much to my surprise, the Elf turns around and begins to walk towards me. His expression soft, and I feel my heart flutter as he comes to a stop in front of me.

"Leave," he says simply, but this time not as severe. The Elf raises up a hand and places it underneath my chin. His fingers dance along my jawline, and I try to ignore the fact that my pulse quickens with every touch.

"No," I reply. "I'm not leaving. Not this time. I can't bear it."

"You have to." His blue eyes sparkle in the moonlight. "It is too dangerous. Go now and pray do not return."

A single tear streaks down me cheek as I take a step back from him. Legolas blinks at me sympathetically before I notice his gaze flicker to a spot in the distance just above my right shoulder. I follow his gaze and nearly shriek upon noticing the Orc standing not five feet away from me. In its wrinkled grey hands lies a menacing black bow.

"Legolas!" I shriek. "Shoot him down!" The Elf does nothing, however, and I watch hopelessly as the Orc strings an arrow whose steely tip drips with a deep blue liquid. Poison; just like the kind that almost killed me. I look back at the Elf with fear in my eyes, begging him to take action.

Legolas meets my gaze with his own just as the Orc releases the arrow.

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><p>"<em>Legolas!" <em>

I sit bolt upright, heart pounding and eyes wide with fear. It is dark now; the sun has dipped down below the horizon. But it is not the darkness that troubles me.

Legolas. Where is he? I have to find him!

"My lady?"

The soft voice does little to calm me as much as it brings me back to reality. A sob racks my throat as I press my face into my hands.

"I am alright," I reply gently, though I'm sure that whoever spoke can hear the lie in my voice. My fingernails dig deeply into my scalp as I rock back in forth, willing myself to forget the horrible nightmare.

_Legolas is okay. He is not dead. It was just a dream._

Another sob catches in my throat, and I force myself to take in deep, calming breaths. Nothing is wrong; I am still in Rivendell, in the care of Lord a Elrond. Nothing has changed.

But at the same time, it has. I can't help but feel that something is wrong, that Legolas is somehow in danger. How, I cannot tell.

"Legolas," I whisper. My voice borders on a moan. "Why couldn't you have come here with Taluharn and the others? It would've been better for the both of-"

"Who are you talking to?"

The voice is quiet, and I look over to see a brown-haired Elf standing at the entrance to the archway. His hazel gaze is soft as he looks down at my quivering form.

"No one," I reply shakily. "Just myself."

"I see." The Elf turns on heel, preparing to leave, before suddenly looking back at me.

"Forgive me," he says. "I am Lindir. I have heard much about you from my Lord Elrond. It was said that you had been poisoned by an Orc blade." Lindir takes a tentative step towards me. "Is that true?"

"Yes," I reply. "Why do you ask, Lindir?"

"I was curious," he tells me quickly. "I am sorry if I disturbed you, my lady."

"Wait!" I call out before the Elf can leave. Lindir immediately turns to look at me, and I shoot him a small smile. "Are you busy?"

"My Lord Elrond had only instructed that I was to keep a close eye on you."

"Good." I smile again, and this time Lindir returns it warmly. "It is nice to have someone to talk to. Would you mind talking to me?"

"Not at all, Keira." The Elf strides briefly across the room before seating himself in the chair beside my bed. "What do you wish to speak to me of?"

"I want to know why I am here. The real reason."

Lindir blinks, clearly shocked at my question, before scratching the back of his neck.

"My lady, I do not think that I am obligated to-"

"Obligated or not, I need you to tell me!"

I surprise even myself with the ferocity in my voice. Poor Lindir looks a bit distraught as his gaze drops to the ground, but I do not apologize.

"Lord Elrond was asked to keep you here until you have fully healed. That is all I know."

"Or is it all you can say?" I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rest my elbows on my thighs. "You are hiding something from me, Lindir. I can see it in your eyes. What aren't you telling me?"

The Elf swallows hard, and the color seems to vanish from his face.

Please, Lindir. Tell me and I shall ask no more of you."

"As you wish," he says finally, looking me in the eye. "But mind you, this is all the information I have.

"Lord Elrond made an agreement to take you in after Taluharn of the Wood-Elves arrived here two days past. They told him that you had been poisoned, and when he inquired of your reasons of having been with the Elves, Taluharn simply told him that the Prince had found you deep within the depths of Mirkwood. He spoke a little of your past, but only enough to give Lord Elrond some insight on you.

"I spoke to Taluharn shortly after Elrond took you to be healed. He said that you were not like the other humans that he had encountered; that you seemed different in a way that he could not explain." Lindir looks up at me, his dark gaze serious. "He said that you survived the Orc attack that claimed your city and fled to the Brown Lands. No ordinary human could settle in such a rugged part of country, and for such a long period of time, nonetheless."

"That would be because I am half-elven."

My comment stops Lindir in his tracks, and his eyes widen to the point that I fear that they may jump out of their sockets.

"But that is not important right now," I say. "Tell me. What else did he say?"

The Elf lets out a sigh. "Taluharn told me that your body rejected the medicine the Wood-elves tried to treat you with. The only way to save you was to bring you here."

I am silent for a long moment. Surely there must have been some other reason to bring me here! To save my life would not be enough for them; a human—or half-human—girl such as myself would not be worth such a trouble. They easily could have given up on me when their medicines failed. No one would have judged them for it… _I _wouldn't judge them for it.

"He also mentioned that he was not under the orders of the King," Lindir adds.

I blink with unmasked surprise. _If not the King, then who else?_

I know the answer even before Lindir speaks again.

"Legolas was the one who gave the instructions to bring you here; he deceived the King into believing you to be dead. Thranduil thinks that Taluharn's patrol is out hunting Orcs near Mirkwood's borders."

"What?" I ask, somewhat dumbfounded. Why on earth would Legolas need to go behind Thranduil's back?  
><em>Thranduil didn't care if you died.<em>

No, the King would not, but could it really be that the Prince_ did? _Could Legolas possibly have cared enough to send me here? To lie to his own father?

"My death would be nothing to Thranduil," I say nonchalantly. "To him, I was no more than an intruder in his realm. But to Legolas…" I look up at Lindir with wide eyes. "I don't know why he would do this. He had no reason to."

"Did he not?"

I look up and raise an eyebrow upon noticing the smile curling at Lindir's lips.

"Perhaps I am mistaken, but I distinctly remember having been told that it was, in fact, you who saved the Prince's life. Am I wrong?" For a long moment I can do nothing but gape at him.

"I went after him," I reply quietly. "That much I can say."

"And you saved his life. Without you, the Prince would have likely succumbed to his injuries."

The power of his words slowly begins to sink in as I gaze into his knowing eyes. He's right. I did save Legolas's life, though others may not see it that way.

"Taluharn told me that you might behave this way," Lindir says. "You are bold but humble. That I admire."

"Why do I get the feeling that you've been talking to Lord Elrond?"

The brown-haired Elf chuckles and opens his mouth to reply when the sharp blast of a horn cuts him off. He shoots a nervous glance at me before getting to his feet and striding over to the arch opening.

"What is it?" I whisper. Another horn blast, followed closely by loud shouting.

_What in the name of the Valar is going on?_

"Lindir?"

"The night patrol has returned." The Elf turns to look at me. "They are not alone." I blink, confused, before standing and making my way over to him.

"What do you mean 'not alone'?" I ask, peering out of the archway. Lindir steps aside in order to let me see past him, and my eyes widen as I take in the sight.

A patrol of five Elves, all atop horses, march down the narrow bridge leading to Rivendell. Each rider bears a brightly flaming torch. The two Elves bringing up the rear sit atop large Elvish draft horses, both of which have heavy rope attached to their saddles. My eyes follow the length of the rope back until my gaze settles on the shadowed figure trailing several feet behind them. The rope is wound tightly around its muscled black neck, and despite the beast's tugging and squirming, it cannot seem to escape it.

"How does the rope not break?" I ask Lindir.

"That rope was made in the woods of Lorien. A strong magic lies upon it that prevents it from breaking."

I then watch as the Elves haul the beast into the entrance of the city. The darkness of night prevents me from making out its identity, but the feeling of dread that has begun to creep into my heart tells me that I might not want to know.

Then, suddenly, the beast freezes in place. The black fur on its back stands up into an enormous ridge, and I watch in horror as its massive head swings round to look at me. Two orb-like yellow eyes ensnare my gaze immediately, and I feel my heart skip a beat.

I know those eyes.

Lindir must sense something is amiss, for he looks over at me and frowns.

"Is something wrong?" he questions.

"Yes. Something is very, _very _wrong"

I look over at the Elf, my eyes wide with fear.

"You don't know who you're dealing with," I say in a hushed voice. "The beast should not have been brought here, Lindir. You must release him."

"Why should we?"

I do not answer but instead force myself to brave the steely golden gaze of the creature before me. I am not dreaming this time. He is really here. The beast that haunts my nightmares; the monster that lurks in the shadows of my thoughts. A terrible shudder runs down along my spine as a white smile spreads out from beneath the beast's penetrating eyes, and I feel the color vanish from my face.

"So now you decide to show up, beast?" I hiss. "How very daring of you."

"You speak as if you know this creature!"

I ignore the Elf's comment, for I am completely consumed by the fiery gaze of my most dreaded enemy. The corner of my mouth twitches, and the beast narrows his eyes. My next words are hardly above a whisper, but somehow I know that he hears them.

"Hello, Carca."

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><p><strong>Feel free to review, and thanks for reading, lovelies! 3<strong>


	10. Carca

**Chapter 10 has arrived! This one's a bit longer… hopefully it will make up for my late update. I really do apologize for the wait, by the way. I've just been VERY busy. :P**

**Anyways, I hope you all like it! Enjoy!**

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><p>Dawn rises above the horizon, painting the city of Rivendell with gorgeous shades of gold and pink. The Elves have just begun to stir; I can hear their soft foot treads as they make their way down the cobblestone streets. The birds sing their glorious melodies as they flutter amongst the trees dotting the courtyard in which I stroll, but I cannot bring myself to enjoy the sweet sound. Instead, my mind is spinning with one thought that has blossomed into thousands of possibilities.<p>

Why is Carca here, and where is he now?

It has been two days since the beast's mysterious arrival. Lindir had turned in for the night shortly after the incident and been replaced by a different Elf with pale gold hair and stormy grey eyes. He introduced himself as Daeron, and though he seemed nice enough, I could not bring myself to ask him about the wolf. Instead, after many long hours of doing nothing but sleeping and pacing, I had requested to take a stroll through the courtyard. Daeron did not hesitate to guide me out to the courtyard, claiming that he himself would, "like some time with nature."

And that is how I ended up here in the first place, gazing up at the magnificent tree tops as Daeron kept a watchful eye on me from beneath a nearby archway.

_How amazing that the trees here keep their leaves even in the cold of winter, _I think to myself. The foliage shines golden as sunlight streams through the gaps between the leaves. For a moment I stand there in silence, willing myself to forget my troubles, but somehow I cannot. Carca is here, though I know not where exactly. That thought in itself is enough to send me into a tizzy.

"Why?" I whisper aloud. "Why would the Elves bring him here?"

"Something wrong?" comes a voice to my right. Daeron, ever insightful, must have caught onto the conflicted look of my expression.

"It's nothing," I say quickly, looking at him with a smile. Seeing him makes me think of Legolas. They have similar colored hair, the same bold Elven features, but there is something that Daeron lacks. His eyes do not harbor the same wisdom and depth as the Prince's, nor do they shine as brightly.

_Why does everything I see make me think of him?_

Shaking my head, I force myself to continue walking along the earthen pathway. The thin Elven slippers adorning my feet are no match for the roughness of the ground beneath them; their soles have worn themselves into nothingness, exposing my bare feet to the elements. But somehow, the feeling of the soil between my toes is enjoyable, therefore I declined Daeron's offer to get me more suitable footwear.

Speaking of the Elf, I feel that perhaps now is the time to mention that I had seen the wolf.

"Daeron," I say suddenly. "Why is the wolf here?"

The Elf blinks with surprise, and his face pales.

"Wolf?" he replies uneasily, rising to his feet and striding over to me. "There is no such thing within the walls of Rivendell."

"Don't pretend to be ignorant. I know what I saw. Surely Lindir told you that he and I watched the animal being led into the city?"

"I assure you, there is no such thing. You must have been dreaming."

_Why are you lying, Daeron? _

"My eyes do not often deceive me," I say warily.

"The darkness of night can betray even the sharpest of eye. Do not trust in what they see, for the truth will not always be shown." Daeron narrows his eyes as I take a step back, an expression of disgust written onto my features.

_Liar! Deceiver! _

"Oh? Then why don't you ask Lindir about it?"

"I already have," he says. "He told me that the late hour was playing tricks on his mind. There was no wolf being led into Rivendell; only the patrol."

My face flushes with angry heat. Is he honestly going to pretend that I saw _nothing? _When Daeron makes no further reply, I take a deep breath and decide if this is the game that he's going to play, then I might as well join in.

Forcing myself to stay calm, I straighten before giving the Elf a weak smile.

"Forgive me," I say, forcing myself to play along. "It must have been my imagination." Shrugging off the anger rising up within me, I change the subject. "Do you think you could give me a tour of the city? I've been dying to see more of it!"

"It would be my pleasure. Guests are always welcome to experience the full glory of Rivendell whenever they wish." I barely contain a snort as the Elf turns and beckons me to follow him back up the path.

_A guest? Since when do guests have guards stationed outside their room? Since when do guests have to be escorted everywhere without a moment's peace? I am no guest… _

_I am a prisoner._

* * *

><p>"This is where our councils are held," Daeron says, leading me through a dark archway before we emerge in a circular room. I blink as my eyes adjust to the glare of the winter sun.<p>

A dozen or so chairs form a ring around the perimeter of the room, and a small gray pedestal stands in the middle of them. There is no ceiling, allowing the trees towering on either side of it to grow overhead. Birds flutter admist the tree tops, their wing-beats stirring up old blossom petals that now fall daintily onto my hair and shoulders. Golden leaves are scattered along the ground, crunching beneath my foot treads as I admire the scenery.

Or, at least, I try to make it look like I am.

My mind is secretly straying to thoughts of a much darker place. A place where the Elves could potentially keep an enormous wolf hidden away from my sight. Or so they would think.

"This is beautiful," I tell Daeron, turning to meet his silver gaze. "When was the last council held?"

"Many years past," he replies. "Lord Elrond has found no need of them in recent times."

"If that is so, then do you have visitors often?"

"Not often," he says with a hint of sorrow in his tone. "Wayward travelers will pass by here on occasion, but they never stay for more than a single night. Our most recent and memorable encounter with the other races was when Thorin and his company passed by on their quest to reclaim Erebor."

My father used to tell me tales of the desolation of the dragon, Smaug. He was a very vain beast, I was told; vain and incredibly powerful. Yet it was but an ordinary man, Bard of Laketown, that felled the creature with a black arrow.

"What were they like?" I ask. "The dwarves, I mean."

Daeron chuckles lightly.

"Now that is a question that might best be reserved for Lindir." He smiles. "The poor soul had quite an experience when the dwarves decided to use our fountain as a wash place. I dare say that he has never quite recovered from the ghastly sight."

"Has he not?" I laugh in turn. "I can only imagine what that must have been like... and for such a shy person to go through, nonetheless."

"To be shy is in his nature. Not even Mithrandir can seem to get more than a few words out of him at a time."

My smile fades slightly at the mention of the strange name. Daeron seems to catch onto my confused look and quickly fills me in.

"Mithrandir is a great wizard, a member of the Istari. He is known by many different names; perhaps you are more familiar with the title Gandalf?"

"I have not the slightest idea," I say. "He might have dropped a visit by Brunsfarrow once or twice, but I was too young to remember clearly."

_Enough talk of dwarves and wizards! You need to figure out where they are keeping Carca!_

"It has been very kind of you to show me around your city, Daeron." The Elf gives a graceful bow in reply, and I am silent for a moment as I fumble for more words. "You don't happen to have… I don't know, maybe someplace _darker _that might provide an escape from the, um…" I pause awkwardly and fling my arm up to gesture at the sky. "The, um… the sun? I have begun to feel quite flushed."

"If you wish for me to take you back to your room, you need only-"

"_No!"_

The Elf recoils a bit at my powerful tone, and I smile in an attempt to lessen it.

"What I mean to say is, I was wondering if you have any caves around here?"

"By caves, do you speak of the forge?"

_The forge, _I think. _Would the Elves consider keeping Carca locked in there?_

"You have a forge?" I ask, widening my eyes in an attempt to appear curious.

"Yes," Daeron replies somewhat uneasily. "But it is currently in use by some of our, erm, blacksmiths. Perhaps we can visit some other-?"

"Why not now?" I interrupt. The Elf frowns at my rudeness, and I giggle in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I am sorry I interrupted you; where are my manners?"

"You are forgiven," says Daeron, quickly waving me off. I smile gratefully before continuing.

"But in all seriousness, Daeron, I do not know how long I will be staying here. If the Wood-Elves were to arrive again tomorrow, and I hadn't seen the forges it would quite nearly break my heart!"

"It is a five day journey from Mirkwood to Rivendell. It would be impossible for them to return so quickly."

_ Elves. Always count on them to give you the blunt truth._

"Well, what if Elrond decided to send me off to some human settlement? Have a heart, Daeron; at least give me a glimpse of them?"

The Elf gives a long and heavy sigh before shooting me an irritated look.

"Fine, but we cannot stay long. Lord Elrond would want you resting."

And with that the Elf turns on heel and strides back through the archway.

_Is Carca there, perhaps? Is that why Daeron acts so reluctant to show me?_

Despite my fear of the wolf, curiosity has begun to get the best of me. Carca is not to be trusted, but he is not entirely evil, either. There must be some part of him that is still good. After all, he strove to protect his people just as much as my father did the residents of Brunsfarrow. That must amount for something, at least. The wolf may be a beast, but does that necessarily make him the murderer I dreamt of all those nights ago?

Would Carca kill me if he had the chance? Maybe that's why the Elves brought him here in the first place; maybe he _has _killed someone.

Could that someone be one of their kin?

I want to know. I _need _to know, and finding Carca is the only answer. No rest will come to me until I know.

Sighing warily, I gather up my courage and follow after the blond-haired Elf.

* * *

><p>Daeron's silver eyes seem to glow as he leads me down a narrow pathway that opens into a small grove of trees. The sun can barely reach through the thick canopy of grey-leaved trees surrounding us, which is both a blessing and a curse. It is a relief to be away from its constant glare, but I also know that far more dangerous things can lurk in the dark places of the world.<p>

"Watch your step," Daeron says absentmindedly as he steps over a tree root. "The ground is not even here."

Taking the Elf's words into consideration, I am careful to avoid the obstacles along the pathway. Then, after a long few minutes of trekking down the path, we come across a flat section of ground. The trail ahead leads into a dark cave that appears to have been carved into the mountainside. Two torches decorate the walls on either side of it, and the air drifting out of the opening smells hot and stale compared to the freshness of the forest.

"Is that it?" I ask. Upon realizing how my comment might be misinterpreted, I quickly add, "It is very impressive. The Elves must have worked many long months in order to carve this out."

"It was not the Elves who created this cave," Daeron says as he slides one of the torches from its holster. "Nature was the only force at work here. Now take that torch in hand; the caves are quite dark." I obediently grab hold of the opposite torch and follow the Elf into the depths of the cave.

Sounds of metal clanging against metal begin to fill me ears as Daeron leads me deep into the rock-walled tunnel. The torch proves to be the only significant form of light source, and I am glad that Daeron instructed me to take it.

"So," I begin, "how long does this tunnel go on for?"

"Not far," he states blandly.

_And there goes my attempt at conversation…_

The Elf is right. We have been walking for only a minute or two when we suddenly emerge into a large cavern. Its enormous stone walls tower up on either side, and I glance up at them in awe. A clattering sound suddenly alerts me, and I look to my right and see two Elves hammering together the broken pieces of a sword. The metal glows an angry red as their anvils strike it multiple times, sending showers of sparks onto the floor. The table on which they work is decorated with scorch marks, and I watch as one of the Elves strides over to a stout rack of swords lining the walls nearest to them. He singles out a particular blade and strides over to the far side of the cavern. A large fire pit burns in an opening in the wall, and I watch in awe as the Elf thrusts the broken blade into the flames. The process is repeated by several more Elves bustling about the large area.

"It looks as if they are preparing for something," I comment. "Why else would you have need for so many weapons?"

"Orcs have begun to grow braver," Daeron says quietly. "It will not be long before they infiltrate our borders, and we must be ready when that happens."

There is a brief silence as I continue to admire the sight before me. None of the Elves appear to have taken notice of us; either that or they pay us no mind.

I am just about to ask Daeron another question when something else captures my attention. On the wall to my right lies a wide-mouthed tunnel. As if on cue, a strong gust of hot air blows out from the yawning black jaws, and a deep rumbling sound shakes the ground beneath my feet.

"Where does that lead?" I ask, gesturing to the opening. Daeron's body tenses as his gaze comes to rest on the tunnel, and he abruptly turns on heel.

"Nothing of importance," he says stiffly. "Come now; you have seen the forges. Let us go back to the city."

Somewhat reluctantly, I allow the Elf to lead me back up the tunnel from whence me came, making sure to memorize every one of its twists and turns.

This may be my first time venturing into the forges, but it will not be my last. While the Elf was skilled at trying to hide it from me, I know full well that something inhabits that tunnel in the forges. Something that Daeron didn't want me knowing about.

Something that bears the name of Carca.

* * *

><p>"Keira."<p>

Two hands grip my shoulders and jostle me gently.

"Keira, wake up!"  
>My eyes flutter open and, blinking sleep from my eyes, I take in the face of Faelwen hovering above mine.<p>

"What… what is it?" I ask with a frown. "What's going on?"

"Listen to me," she says sternly, green eyes blazing. "We must get out of here."

"Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

The Elf opens her mouth to reply when the sharp blast of a horn cuts her off. I sit bolt upright just in time to catch a glimpse of several dark figures bustling past the archway. They are all armor-clad and bear silver long-bows.

"Rivendell is under attack?" I ask bleakly, looking up at my mother; there is fear in her eyes.

"Yes."

I hurriedly swing my legs over the side of the bed and allow the she-elf to hoist me to my feet.

"Orcs?"

Faelwen nods.

"How many of them?"

"Dozens," she replies gravely. "And they are no regular Orc, either. They are the black Uruk-Hai of Mordor."

Chills race down my spine as my mother continues.

"I fear that there is a much darker force at work here." Faelwen takes my hands in her own and tugs gently. "Come now. We must leave."

Something about the she-elf's demeanor makes me suspicious, and I narrow my eyes.

"What are you hiding, mother? Why is there guilt in your eyes?"

Faelwen gazes back at me before letting out a long sigh.

"There is something that I must tell you, Keira. Something I should have told you when you first arrived here. But right now we must go."

"Not until you tell me what you are hiding!" I raise my eyebrows, willing her to go on. "Please, Faelwen."

My mother hesitates reluctantly, but she must catch onto the intensity of my tone, for eventually she gives in.

"Let it be said that I would not tell you this under normal circumstances." The she-elf's grip tightens around my palms. "But if the Orcs were to breach our borders and claim me, I will not die with these words still in my mouth. You are… not the only child I bore."

My face registers betrayal and shock, and I take a step back until my calves are pressed against the bedframe.

"_What?" _I gasp.

"Many long years ago, there was another daughter bore to me. Her father was my first husband, Saeldur, a Wood-Elf. We were married for three hundred years before an Orc struck him down near Mirkwood's borders. My daughter was grief-stricken in the long months that followed his death and ultimately made the decision to live in the Woodland Realm." Faelwen's gaze softens, pain shining clear in her eyes. "Her name is Antiel."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" I demand angrily.

"Because I feared that too much knowledge of the matter would bring harm to you. Please, do not hold this against me."

_I have a half-sister that lives in Mirkwood. _

Faelwen opens her mouth but I push by her before she has the chance to speak.

"Keira, would you just…"

"NO!" I roar, turning around to face her. There is fire in my eyes and venom on my tongue. "You had your chance to tell the truth, but now I see that you have forsaken it. All you have ever done is deceive me."

"I didn't tell you because I was afraid how you would react!" The she-elf's green eyes are ablaze with worry and grief. "Having been reunited with me was one thing, but to be told that you had a sister? I was fearful that you could not handle it all."

"Do you really believe me to be that weak?" I ask, shocked . Faelwen reaches out to touch my arm.

"Keira, please understand. It was for you own good."

My vision reddens with rage as I stare at the hand outstretched towards me. Tears have begun to pool in my eyes, but I don't blink them away. Instead, I allow them to spill over my cheeks as I look up at my mother once more.

"I will never understand," I whisper brokenly before turning away from her and fleeing from the room.

* * *

><p>I don't know exactly how I end up in the caves again. Perhaps it was destiny that brought me back into their dark clutches, or maybe a cruel twist of fate. Either way, when I finally become coherent enough to think straight, that is where I find myself to be.<p>

My cheeks are wet with tears as I sit crumpled on the floor of the tunnel, my back propped against the wall. A lit torch rests on the ground beside me.

How could this happen... How? Why did Faelwen have to keep so many secrets? What sort of mother would keep her daughter from knowing about her own sibling?

"A very, very horrid one," I mumble to myself.

Suddenly, my ears pick up on a deep rumbling sound from somewhere within the caves. Fear grips at my heart as I recall the last time I ventured in here.

_That is the same noise I heard yesterday,_ I think, using my arms to push myself onto my feet. Head spinning, I find myself beginning to stumble forward through the dark tunnels of the cave. But, unlike the last time, I am alone now. Daeron and most of the other Elves are out fending off the Orcs that threaten to invade Rivendell, and Faelwen didn't dare follow after me. No doubt she could sense the rage coursing through my veins.

Now here I am, grief-stricken and terrified, as I venture deeper into the tunnel. The torch I hold clutched in my hand provides little light; though the flames are burning brightly, the blackness is simply too thick to penetrate. The feeling that something sinister lurks ahead has begun to cling to me as the condensation clings to the rock walls. And though my footsteps are soft and silent, I can't help but wonder if someone—or something—can hear them.

"Be brave," I whisper to myself. "What would Father do?"

A low growl emanates from somewhere up ahead, bouncing off of the walls before reaching my wary ears. My muscles tense up as the torch is abruptly snuffed out by a cold breeze snaking down the tunnel. A shudder trembles up my spine as I am left in total darkness.

Frustrated, I hurl the now useless torch into the cave wall. The mistake is evident as soon as the object collides with the stone. The noise of the impact echoes loudly in the relative quiet of the tunnel. The growling ceases abruptly.

_Idiot! _I scold myself.

The deep silence that follows is nerve-rackingly long. My heartbeat thunders, hammering in my ears.

Can he hear it, I wonder?

I force my legs to start moving forward once more as worry swirls around in my mind.

_He heard me. He knows I'm here. _

My arms are extended out on either side of my body, allowing my fingertips to brush against the stone walls of the tunnel. Touch is the only way I can navigate in the pitch black, though even that sense can sometimes deceive me. The walls are uneven in places, narrowing down the widening out the further I venture.

Minutes later, I can hardly stretch my arms out far enough to touch the stone. An irritated growl escapes my lips as I give up on my original tactic and resort to hugging close to the right wall. Relying on one wall alone is not at all logical, for if the tunnels were to branch out at some point, I would have no idea where I was going. _It's not like I know where I am going anyway._

Another deep growl echoes down the tunnel. This time, however, it is followed by a far more sinister sound. A howl, as sharp and cutting as the Elven blade I have tethered to my hip, slices its way through the tunnels. Fear strikes me in the heart, moving me to cower closer against the wall. He is close, now; surely his keen nose must have already picked up my familiar scent.

Then, suddenly, I feel it. The slight shift in the air that signifies I am no longer in the tunnels. An unpleasant rotting smell has begun to reach my nostrils, and I wrinkle my nose with distaste as I emerge into a dome-like room. The only way I am able to make out its shape is by the multiple cracks that line its tall ceiling. Thin rays of moonlight stream through them, illuminating the dust drifting off of the stone with my every footstep.

_This isn't the forge, _I think to myself before placing a hand on my forehead. _Excellent, now you're really lost. How can you become __lost_ _at a time like this? _

"Who goes there?"

The voice is as loud as thunder and weighs down on me as if it harbored some physical property. Chills race down to my fingertips, and I feel my body stiffen as I step out into the dark room.

I know the speaker of those words.

"You know who I am," I say strongly. "Do not pretend to be ignorant, _Carca."_

A deep silence follows my statement, followed by a grating noise that I soon realize to be laughter.

"Alas!" cries the beast. "Byron's daughter has chosen to venture into the dark. Tell me, do you regret your decision now?" I catch a glimpse of a dark shape moving through the shadows to my right, but it is gone before I can take a second glance. A small tingling sensation arises in the back of my neck as I feel the creature's eyes boring into me.

"Why are you here?" I hiss at him. "As far as I know, the Elves of Rivendell do not take prisoners often. Surely they must have good reason to bring you here."

"Bah! You think they brought me here?" Another flash of black fur, this time close enough that I can feel the small breeze from its movement. "Foolish girl; the Elves think that these puny chains can hold me, but I have deceived them of my true strength." A small rattling noise ensues; metal clanging against stone, I realize with a shudder. "I allowed them to capture me," he continues.

I smile at the lie in his voice.

"So you claim."

The wolf growls in reply to my snide comment. A faint glimmer of light appears in front of me as a ray of moonlight catches onto Carca's white fangs. One of his eyes comes into view for a brief second. It is menacing and predatory, its pupil formed into a thin slit as if it were a serpent's.

Perhaps that is all Carca is; a snake concealed in wolf skin.

"Are you scared, Keira?" Black saliva dribbles from his jowls as he speaks, but I refuse to give the monster the satisfaction of my fear.

"Not if I can help it."

Carca flashes me a glinting smile. "You should be. Not many dare venture into the dark recesses of the world, especially those of such..." He pauses briefly. "Fragility."

I clench my fists in anger and am prepared to shoot back a scathing comment when, suddenly, I have an epiphany. It is crazy and possibly insane, but I am out of options.

_Perhaps coming here wasn't such a bad idea after all._

"If you dare speak to me of my 'fragility', than the least you can do is grant me a small favor."

The wolf throws back his head and howls in laughter.

"_Me?_ Grant _you _a favor? What an idea!"

"I am serious, wolf."

Carca's laughter abruptly ceases. For a moment the creature is completely still before, slowly, his massive head angles downward to look at me. His golden eyes are narrowed suspiciously.

"If you are willing to ask for a favor, than allow me to request something of _you_." He steps closer, allowing the moonlight to fully illuminate his black face.

Carca's dark muzzle is blemished with countless scars, and the fur is thin and matted in places. A particularly vile looking wound decorates the flesh just above his right brow; blood stains the surrounding fur a violent maroon color. Red veins bulge out from the eye beneath the ghastly injury, signifying that it as well took damage from whatever attacked the wolf. The monster leans in close to my ear before shouting deafeningly, "_LEAVE!"_

His voice rattles the walls, stirring up more dust from the ceiling. He grinds his claws into the floor of the cave, leaving deep white abrasions in the otherwise smooth stone. I winch at the screeching sound it makes.

"Hear me out," I say. "I come to offer my help in exchange for yours. The Elves are preoccupied by an Orc attack. If we hurry, I can cut your bonds and free you without them realizing."

The beast's tall ears lay back flat against his head.

"And what is it that you ask for in return?"

"That you take me to the Woodland Realm."

Carca's thrusts his muzzle forward until our noses are nearly touching. His hot breath pants against my face, and I resist the impulse to gag. It smells of blood and death.

"And why," he begins. "would I be willing to do that?" I shoot him an annoyed look before glancing down at the chains encircling his neck.

"A favor for a favor," I say.

"Or so you think," the wolf chides. "What is there to stop me from tearing out your throat the moment you set me free?"

"Did I say I was finished?" Carca shoots me a curious look as I continue. "I have… acquaintances among the Wood-elves. After we arrive in Mirkwood, I will see to it that as long as you keep peace with the Elves, they will no longer strive to capture you." Pausing, I squint my eyes at the wolf. "Why _did _they capture you in the first place?"

"Grudges. Deep, age-old grudges. The Elves were not always on the best of terms with my kin."

_I wonder why?_

"The Elves will listen to me. As long as you prove to be nothing but my traveling companion, no further harm will come to you."

"What influence does a meager girl such as yourself have on the Wood-elves?"

Carca's words ring in my ears for a moment before I give a shaky reply.

"I saved the Elf Prince's life the last time I was in Mirkwood. He… I guess you could say that we are… friends."

"Friends? Ah, yes, _friends_ you say. That is how it always begins, I am told. Is he the reason why you wish to go back?"

My tongue feels like it has turned to lead in my mouth as I struggle to reply. Could it be that Antiel is not entirely the reason I want to go back? After all, she could be just as deceitful as my mother—possibly worse. Is it really Legolas that moves me to return to the Woodland Realm?

"No," I say uneasily. "But right now, it does not matter."

"Then who is it?" he inquires. "Surely there must be someone else, if not the Elf Prince, that moves you to return to that dark forest?"

"I recently discovered that I have a half-sister who lives in the Woodland Realm. She is who I need to find."

"A sister?" Carca drawls, eyes glittering savagely. "How very interesting. I assume it was your mother who told you this?"

"We may be bound by blood, but Faelwen will _never _be my mother."

The wolf says no more and draws back several steps. He then begins to pace slowly around me. The heavy chains coiled around his neck clatter noisily as he does so. My eyes follow the length of the metal links until they come to rest upon the massive metal pole anchoring the chain into the ground.

"I do not trust you, Keira," he says blandly, catching my observation.

"Nor I you" I reply, "but we are out of options. I can't stay here, and neither can you." I unsheathe the sword strapped against my belt, and Carca recoils with a snarl. I had found the weapon by coincidence several nights ago, while I was searching the drawers of the nightstand. It was the very sword I had snagged on my way out of the Palace in Mirkwood. When I questioned Daeron about it, he claimed that the Elves had put it in the nightstand for safekeeping, at least until I was well again.

I had managed to grab the sword shortly after my confrontation with Faelwen.

"Relax," I sooth the wolf. "I'm not planning to use this on you. The blade will be used only to cut your bonds, but only if you accept my offer."

A long pause stretches out between us as the wolf ponders the thought for a moment. My heart rate quickens with every second that goes by until, finally, Carca turns to look at me.

"I will do it," he says. "But we must leave now. Mirkwood is a long trek from here; nearly five days, not to mention if we come across Orcs." The wolf wrinkles his nose in distaste, and my fingers drum across the hilt of the blade.

_By the Valar, Faelwen had better not be lying about my sister, or I am about to make the biggest mistake of my life._

Raising the sword over my head, I force myself to brave the intense golden gaze of the wolf.

"Then let us be gone."

And with that I let the sword fall.

* * *

><p><strong>*insert suspenseful music here* Sorry to leave you all a bit on the edge, but what can I say? Un-resolved endings are kind of my thing ;) Welp, I hope everyone liked it! Thanks again to all who read, reviewed, favorited, and followed! It truly makes my day! Feel free to drop by some reviews, and have a great rest of the week!<strong>

**- PC**


	11. Allied

**Here's Chapter 11! Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Howling and shrieking. That's the first thing I hear when I emerge from the mouth of the cave. The cold rays of the moon offer little means of light, even out in the open, and it takes everything within me not to tense up when I hear the growling emanating from within the dark tunnel.<p>

"Wretched Orcs! The night breeze is poisoned by their insufferable stench!"

I look over my shoulder to see Carca's bold yellow eyes boring into me. His expression is contorted in disgust and anger. My stomach clenches in fear, but I force myself to remain calm.

_Relax, he's on your side. For now, at least._

"Wretched they may be, but such words will not bring halt to their siege of Rivendell." I begin to stride forth into the woods, ushering the wolf to follow me. "Come on, we need to move."

"Keira," Carca growls, his tone irritable, "our bargain stated nothing about you giving me orders. _I _will be the one telling _you _what to do. My eyes are keen in dark places; ride atop me, and we may yet escape without your clumsiness inhibiting us."

"_Ride _you?" I cry. "Why in the name of the Valar would I want to do that?"

"You want to move quickly, do you not?"

I nod stiffly.

"Good, then my plan should suit you well." The wolf steps up beside me, and I shoot him a nervous look. Carca returns my gaze, his eyes filled with a fierce intensity unmatched in the animal world. Sighing reluctantly, I brace my arms on the creature's massive shoulder before swinging one of my legs over his back. His thick black fur is coarse beneath my fingertips as I place my hands on either side of his muscled neck.

"Let us go, then," I mutter reluctantly. "And do be careful. I am not used to riding wolves."

Carca grins in amusement.

"As you wish, daughter of Byron."

And with that he bounds forward into darkness.

* * *

><p>My eyelashes flutter open, damp with morning dew, as Carca's rumbling snores vibrate the ground beneath me. The lonesome cry of a coyote sounds from the forests below the cliff, followed by the sing-song call of a dove. Their voices join in a beautiful chorus; one creature fare-welling the night, the other welcoming the new day that is to come.<p>

Muscles aching, I let out a low moan before rolling onto my side. My tired eyes manage to swim into focus enough to see that the sun has begun to dawn over the Misty Mountains. Its early rays seem to brandish the snow-capped peaks into solid gold. A smile whispers across my lips, for the yellow star has dawned light upon the first day of our journey.

Alas, though it may have felt like an eternity, Carca and I had only been traveling for a couple of hours before the wolf decided that it would be best for us to stop and rest. He was tireless in his trek despite my being atop him, and I can't help but wonder if the creature stopped for my sake alone. Maybe his senses had picked up on the fact that my wounds have not yet fully healed. That I am still weak from the poison that had once flowed through my veins. Either way, Carca had managed to find a safe outcropping in the cliffside along which we were traveling, where we had then rested for the remainder of the night. But now, as I roll back over to face the wolf, I find myself wishing that Carca could have picked a better place.

The tiny cave is barely large enough to fit us both; even now I can hardly move without brushing against one of the wolf's gangly limbs. His hot breaths stir up the pieces of hair straying into my face as I tilt my head over to look at him. Surprisingly, I find myself admiring how peaceful he looks while asleep. Though his face still remains mangled and scarred, it is no longer filled with worry and malice. Much more serene thoughts seem to have taken over him. Perhaps he is dreaming of his own race, back when times were not so dark.

Back when he was not the only black wolf left to walk the face of the earth.

_What must it be like for you? _I ponder thoughtfully, _to keep living when there is nothing left to drive you on?_

One of the wolf's ears twitches, as if somehow detecting my thoughts, before his eyelids raise up. Two golden eyes stare somewhat sleepily back at me before blinking twice.

"Dawn has risen," Carca says in a voice so deep that it vibrates the ground on which we lay. "We must be moving on; we cannot afford to give the Elves time to track us."

I give a noisy yawn in reply before leaning up into a sitting position. My legs feel as stiff as cardboard, so I take a moment to stretch them out. My joints pop and crack as I do so, and Carca shakes cave dust from his fur.

"So, how much farther will it be to Mirkwood?"

"A four day journey," says Carca, "if we are not delayed." The wolf swings his massive head to look at me. "Listen to me now; our bargain was that if I took you to the realm of the Wood-elves, you in turn would promise me my freedom. I can promise you that I can take you there, but if I said that our travels would be easy, it would be a lie. The land in which we have strayed is filled to the brim with Orcs and my rather unpleasant relatives, the Wargs. Be on your guard at all times, and do not rely on me alone to protect you from danger."

"Why would I?" I retort. "I am not something to be protected, Carca. It was simply by coincidence that we met at all. If not for that, I wouldn't have requested your assistance in the first place."

"And you would have provided the Orcs with a very nice bit of breakfast to start off their day."

I shoot Carca a scathing glare before getting to my feet and striding out of the cave entrance. The sun's glare blinds me for a moment, and I raise up a hand to shield my eyes. Once they adjust, I am left to gape at the sight before me.

The cliff face on which I stand overlooks a vast stretch of familiar grassland. The Brown Lands, I realize with a wistful sigh. I will never understand why they are called that, for they are not brown, but instead a glorious sea of gold. Its grassy waves mesmerize me for a moment as I think back to the days I spent living among them. Hunting game, drinking from crystal-clear brooks, basking in the sunlight. The very air of the place seems to clear my mind.

_Why are you doing this, Keira? Why are you going after Antiel? She probably doesn't even know that you exist. Would it be so wrong to just go home?_

_No_, I decide finally, _it wouldn't be wrong. Carca would likely be abiding to the change of plans, despite our bargain. After all, it's not like the wolf _enjoys_ being in my company. I wouldn't, either. It's a miracle in itself that Legolas was able to put up with me for as long as he did._

"Admiring the view?

Carca's loud voice startles me from my thoughts, and I turn to see him standing beside me. His amber eyes match the color of the land below us.

"Yes," I reply somewhat breathlessly. "I used to live here, you know. Before I ended up in Mirkwood. It acted as my home after the destruction of Brunsfarrow."

"Why did you choose to come here?"

I shrug in reply and cross my arms over my chest. The silken fabric of my Elven attire is thin yet surprisingly warm. The cold mountain air has yet to chill me. It must be inlaid with a magic of some sort, for how else could it not already be torn?

"Come now," I hear Carca chide. "I know there is more to the story than that. If I am to be traveling with you for some time, than the least you could do is give me some insight into your past."

"Why would I want to tell you anything? We were, after all, enemies at one time or another."

"Enemies? No, we were never enemies." The wolf's ears lay back flat against his head as he gazes longingly out at the plains. "You were but a child when the famine spread throughout the forests. My family was starved of prey, as the deer that once roamed the woodlands had all but died out from lack of food. We were all driven half-mad by hunger." Carca closes his eyes, as if recalling an unpleasant memory. "The feeling of emptiness is something that I never wish to experience again."

"Nor do I. Though Brunsfarrow may have appeared plentiful, the nobles hoarded most of the goods themselves. The common folk had little to eat."

We both sit in a thoughtful silence before the black wolf speaks once more.

"Why did the Elves behave so strangely around you?"

His question takes me aback, and I turn to look at him.

"What do you know about their behavior?" I snap, my tone harsher than I meant. "You spent all your time cooped up in a cave."

"When their patrol brought me into the city, I saw that you were not being held in one of the guest homes, but the healing house instead. They acted as if you were something to be protected, for the healing house is thought to be the most well-guarded place in Rivendell." Carca seems to catch onto the strange look I give him and continues. "Why were you brought to Imladris in the first place?"

"I was poisoned by an Orc blade back in Mirkwood. The healing power of Lord Elrond was the only thing that could save me."

"Really?"

"Really."

My bland comment seems to satisfy the wolf, for the time being, at least. He turns briskly from me before beginning to stride back down the trail.

"Follow me; the trail before us is a long one, and it is best if we start on it now."

Lightning cracks across the sky, splintering shards of white light down onto the land below. The downpour of rain inhibits me from seeing more than a few feet in front of me, and even Carca appears to be struggling. The thin mountainous ledge upon which we walk is dangerously slippery. I had requested to ride the wolf at one point, but he had told me off, claiming that our combined weight might bring down the mountain pass altogether.

"Carca!" I shout, my voice barely audible. A flash of light signifies the coming of another loud crash of sound, and I wince at its strength. "How much farther till we get off this mountain? I can't see anything!"

"Nor can I," the wolf replies loudly. "And I do not know. The rain makes it near impossible for my eyes to see what lies-" Suddenly, Carca lets out a sharp yowl, and I watch with wide eyes as a massive boulder careens down from the cliff and tumbles into the pathway in front of him. The wolf attempts to dodge it, but fails, and I watch in horror as his black form is drug down with the rock as it spills off of the mountain side.

"Carca? _Carca!_"

For a long moment there is no reply. My heart pounds as I struggle to see through the torrent of water.

_Is he dead? _

"Keira, get down!"

I heed Carca's words just as another boulder crashes down from the cliff, narrowly missing taking my head with it. Eyes wide, I force my trembling legs to take several shaky steps forward until I am standing at the edge of the pathway.

"Carca, where are you?" I call out, glancing around anxiously. An irritated growl sounds from beneath me. Confused, I look down and start slightly. Carca's soggy form is clinging to the lip of rock below me, his features strained with exertion. I let out a small bleak of surprise before crouching down.

"H-hold on; I'll get you up!" My shaking hands grab hold of the wolf's wet paws, and I heave backwards in an attempt to pull him back onto the pathway. The rain makes it difficult to get a foothold as I struggle to bear Carca's weight, but I manage nonetheless. The wolf grunts with effort before giving a sharp kick with his back legs. The momentum he gains is enough to launch him back onto the outcropping. I roll to the side just in time to avoid being crushed by his bulky form.

"Please… don't do that… again," I pant, wiping damp strings of hair from my forehead.

"I don't plan on it!" Carca bites back before stumbling to his feet. He then turns his gaze out to the enormous gap separating us from the rest of the pathway.

"We're going to have to jump," the black wolf says with a huff.

"You've got to be kidding me…"

"Enough, Keira! If you wish to make it to Mirkwood, than the only way to do so is to bridge the gap by jumping." Carca's eyes shine with a deadly seriousness, and I shudder.

"You first," I growl.

Carca's ears lay flat in annoyance, but he abides nonetheless. He crouches down and gives a massive leap forward. His sleek body streamlines through the air before making a rough landing on the path opposite me. The wolf's head impacts the rock with a sickening crunch as he tumbles forward. He seems not to notice it, however, as he turns round to look at me.

"Well? Jump!"

Grumbling, I jog back several steps before taking a deep breath and sprinting forward. When I am about to reach the edge, I swing my arms back before careening over the ravine. After a terrifying few seconds of air time, my feet collide painfully with the rocky ground. The shaky landing causes me to become unbalanced, and Carca barely manages to snag hold of my shirt before I tip over the side of the cliff. I eye the wolf gratefully before regaining my footing and wringing out my drenched outfit.

"That was interesting," I comment blandly.

"Quite."

And with that we continue on.

**Two days later**

_Blood is everywhere. It adorns the ground with red blossoms and paints the bodies of the fallen. So many are dead now. Elves, all of them; even in death their beauty is unmatched._

_My breath comes out in ragged pants as I stumble out into the clearing. Heart pounding, I bend down and begin to turn over each of the bodies._

_Where is he? Where he is?_

"_Prince?" I call raggedly. "Prince, I'm here." A low moan sounds from somewhere to my right, and I look over to see the body of Legolas lying motionless on the frozen ground. He is rolled onto his side, and I can see even from a distance that there is blood splattered onto his armor. His blue eyes are clouded over with pain as our gazes meet._

"_Legolas!" I cry, nearly tripping over several bodies to get to him. His body lies near the center of the clearing, and I am by his side within seconds. A cry of anguish escapes my lips before I crumple to the ground beside his body. A grotesque sword wound cuts across the Elf's torso, staining his tunic red with blood. My fingers run soothingly through his hair as I take his face in my hands, tears streaming down my cheeks._

"_Stay with me," I plead. "Please, just stay awake. You'll make it through this."_

"_Why?" the Elf chokes out. "Why did you…come back?"_

"_Because… because…" The Prince's body convulses suddenly, and I cradle his head in my lap. Blood seeps out of the corner of his lips as I rock back in forth, sobbing feverently. "Legolas, it's because I-"_

_I feel it. I feel it when he dies. When his last breath fades away onto my cheek. It is warm and smells of mint. A broken wail rises up in my throat as I fall upon the Elf's body, my tears mixing with his blood._

_He was gone before I had a chance to finish._

I awake with tears in my eyes and his name on my lips.

"Legolas." The thin moan sounds hollow as I gaze up into the midnight sky, pondering over the nightmare. It is the third one that I have had of him. Could it mean something? A bad omen, perhaps?

"Everything alright?"

Carca's tone isn't overly concerned, but I feel obliged to respond nonetheless.

"Yes, yes everything is quite fine." My fingers dig into the damp soil beneath my fingers as I push myself into a sitting position. "Just a nightmare."

"Only one?" the wolf questions. "I can hardly believe that. Judging by your squawking, I would've guessed that there were two or three dark dreams haunting your thoughts."

"It was so vivid," I say, ignoring Carca's comment. "My dreams have been getting stronger, lately. More realistic."

"I fear that they will only get worse the further you stray from Rivendell. The Elves' magic likely put your mind to peace while you stayed amongst them. Your mixed blood would enable you to be strongly affected by the calming nature of the place." I look over my shoulder in order to give the wolf an irritated look. "What?" he says innocently, "we both know that it's true!"

"Maybe, but that does not give you the right to talk about it so freely."

Carca shakes his head, tossing his mane of black fur, before letting out a long sigh.

"I still do not know why you insisted upon being taken to Mirkwood so urgently. If you wanted to visit your sister so badly, why not ask the elves themselves? For all you know, they might have agreed to take you there." My gaze turns down to the ground, and I clasp my hands in my lap. Carca's right. He had a reason to want to escape, but me? Why should I? The Elves were perfectly kind to me, if not the most welcoming to my mixed blood. Surprising, given that Lord Elrond's kin are also half-elven. What makes me so different, I wonder?

"The Elves were not overly welcoming to me being a half-elf," I say meekly. "I don't know exactly why, only that I was afraid of what they might say if I were to request such a thing."

"It is not so strange if you consider the past." Carca's tone is anything but sympathetic as he continues. "Back when Elrond was younger, humans were said to be the noble sort. His snideness towards other half-elves started back when Isildur refused to cast the ring into Mount Doom. After seeing the greed of men first hand, Elrond never fully regained his admiration for the race of men. To him, each and every one of them is as corrupted as Isildur. When he first gained knowledge that your father was in love with one of his kin…" The wolf trails off. "Let's just say that he didn't approve of the match. And to have the product of their affections waltz straight into his home was not the most ideal, either."

"I didn't have a choice," I say. "The Wood-elves brought me there. I didn't 'waltz' into Imladris."

"To the elves, it did not matter," Carca snaps back severely. "Though they may be wise beyond even my knowledge, the elves are easily succumbed to their status. To have their relativly 'pure' race spoiled by a lowly half-elf is extremely irritating to them."

_Spoiled. What a nice way to put it._

Aggravated, I turn away from him before slumping back onto the ground. The damp mountain air clings to my skin like sticky sap, and I shiver slightly as a frigid draft snakes down into the valley in which we lay. It chills me to the bone, and my teeth chatter noisily as I attempt to get some rest.

"Who is Legolas?"

I jump slightly, all hopes of sleeping gone as Carca's abrupt question rings in my ears.

"What?" I ask, rolling over to face him. The wolf is resting his head on his paws, eyes closed.

"I said, who is Legolas?"

"Legolas?" I feel chills of dread begin to creep up my spine. "He's, um… he's an elf—a prince, to be specific—that lives in Mirkwood. Why?"

One of Carca's eyes opens into a thin slit. "You were calling for him while you slept." My cheeks flush with embarrassment, and the wolf chuckles.

"So, it is as I suspected. You _do _have feelings for him."

"Who said that I do?" I retort sharply.

"You were weeping bitterly while you wailed his name." Carca lifts up his head and opens both of his eyes. "Your nightmare no doubt involved him."

"So?"

"Why would one have such dark dreams of a person that they do not care about?"

I let out a heavy breath before propping myself up on one elbow.

"Fine," I say, "maybe I do care about him, or maybe I don't. But either way, since when has that become so important to you?"

"No reason," the wolf replies. "Curiosity will occasionally get the best of me."

_Is that all, Carca? _I think, squinting suspiciously at him. _Is there no more you will tell me?_

"Sleep now," he says in a gravelly voice. "You need your rest for the journey ahead." Reluctantly, I lay my head back down and try not to think about Carca's strange but sudden curiosity. Instead, I find myself concentrating on my own heart-beat. Willing it to lull me to sleep.

_Drum, thrum. Drum, thrum._

Just when sleep is about to take me, I hear something. An irregular pulse, different from the rhythmic beats of my heart. It vibrates the ground beneath me, stirring up clouds of dust. Frowning, I roll back onto my side and press my ear against the earth.

_Boom boom, boom boom_

"Carca," I hiss out. When no response comes, I say louder, "Carca!"

"What is it?" he replies sleepily.

"Do you hear that?"

The wolf is silent for a moment, and I glance over to see that he also has his ear pressed against the ground. His eyes are pinched closed in concentration.

"Something is coming," he says finally, rising up onto his feet. "We need to move."

"Do you know what it is?" I ask. My legs wobble beneath me as I stagger over to the wolf.

"Orcs, and a large group of them, no doubt. They march in unison."

My hands shake as I sling one leg over Carca's back. After situating myself atop him, the wolf lurches forward into a brisk trot.

"Mirkwood is not far now," he says curtly. "If we move quickly, we have hope of reaching it before the orcs catch up to us."

"Wait… you think that the orcs are coming after us?"

"Why else would they be awake at such an unearthly hour? They must've caught a whiff of us downwind. Orcs are not quick to pass up on an unsuspecting meal."

"Then, by all means, let us be gone!"

Carca gives a nod of agreement, and in a matter of seconds we have disappeared into the night.

"Hellfire! They're gaining on us!"

Carca glances up at me, and I feel the fur along his spine bristle in agitation. A beastly shriek sounding from somewhere behind us signals that the first of the orcs has crested the hilltop.

"Carca!" I screech. "Faster!"

"Enough!" the wolf roars in response. "If I go much faster, I will be flying. My legs can only carry me so far."

"Then grow wings, if that is what it takes! There are too many to fight, not to mention their… oh, curse it all, they have wargs!"

"_Wargs?"_

A loud howl echoes to my right, and I look over to see one of the wolves sprinting up beside Carca. Its murky yellow fangs are bared with menace. I glare at the creature before unsheathing my sword. The silver blade makes a low hissing sound as it slides out of the scabbard, and the warg snarls.

"Come closer," I say, then add with a smirk, "if you dare." The warg obliges readily as it lunges for me. I duck down as the creature sails over my head before raising up my arm and plunging the sword deep into its chest. The animal lets out a brutal wail before colliding head first into the ground in front of us. Carca leaps up just in time to avoid tripping over the newly acquired obstacle.

"How much father until we reach Mirkwood?" I ask, grimacing as black warg blood trickles down onto the hilt of my sword.

"We are close now," Carca pants. "Only another mile or so."

He is right. The grey outline of the forest is clear on the dawning horizon. An open stretch of grassland is the only thing separating us from the sanctuary of the trees.

"If we hurry, we might be able to lose them in the foliage!"

"I wouldn't count on it," says the wolf. "Orcs are not deterred by simple obstacles. It would take much more than that to ward them off. Our only hope is that your little friends the Wood-elves are somewhere nearby."

_I wouldn't count on that, either, _I think irritably.

"Runnin's pointless!" I hear one of the orc's bark out. "We'll catch ya!" An arrow whizzes past my ear, and I look over my shoulder to see that two of the beasts have pulled out their short bows. I curse loudly before flattening out on the wolf's back, praying that an arrow doesn't find residence in my spinal cord. Carca seems to sense the danger as well and quickens his pace. The distance between us and Mirkwood has shrunk considerably, and I feel my heart rise into my throat as the looming trees cast shadows over us.

"Hold on!" Carca cries before surging forward powerfully. The extra thrust sends us rocketing out of the grassland and into the confines of the forest.

No sooner have we crossed the border than the orc pack plunges in after us. Their squeals and screams rattle my eardrums as Carca weaves in and out of the trees. The wolf's chest has begun to heave even harder as he struggles to retain his fast pace over the treacherous terrain. Much to my relief, the wargs that were once pursuing us seem to have given up the chase, having sensed the dangers that lie ahead. If only their stubborn masters would take the hint.

Another arrow speeds past me, closer this time. Its barbed tip slices a thin cut across my cheek, and I can't help but wish that I myself had a bow. Not that it would do much good, given my wretched aim.

"Are you really going to let them do this to us?" I cry, anger rising up within me. "Let them hunt us like prey? You're better than this, Carca. Now turn around and fight!"

"You said it yourself; there are too many of them."

"Since when have numbers daunted you? You invaded Brunsfarrow, did you not? Did numbers matter so much then?"

At first it seems that my words have fallen on deaf ears. Carca says nothing as he weaves in and out of the trees before letting out a grudging sigh. He sticks his front legs out and digs his paws into the ground, causing him to skid to an abrupt halt.

"Curse your stubborn hide," he grumbles. "Take arms, Keira, for blood is about to be shed." The wolf's yellow eyes blaze with fury as he turns around to face the orcs.

"No problem there," I say, clutching my sword tightly in one hand. Then, just as the first orc emerges from the foliage, Carca lunges. The wrinkled beast lets out a squeal of surprise before being decapitated with a swift cleave of my sword. Carca tosses aside its twitching corpse before starring down the rest of the pack. The orcs seem momentarily dazed, having just witnessed the grisly death of their companion, but they quickly regain their bearings enough to form a defensive line.

"Take them out first," I say, gesturing to the orc archers that have begun to emerge from the shadows. The black wolf nods his agreement as he paws anxiously at the ground. Steely swords glint in the sunlight as the orcs unsheathe their weapons, preparing for the coming onslaught. Carca's hackles rise up as his muscles tense, prepared to spring…

A volley of arrows suddenly explodes from the treetops, felling all but five of the Orcs in one clean sweep. The creatures panic, their gazes turning upward, before one of them howls out an alarm. It is silenced, however, by an arrow to the throat. It's comrades watch in numb horror as the beast writhes for a moment before crumpling to its knees and going still. The silence that follows is shattered abruptly with squeals of panic and the orcs turn on heel and flee into the forest. It is not long before their black forms have melted into the shadows of dawn.

"Well, that was… unexpected," I say, glancing warily up at the trees.

"It seems as though your little friends have found us, after all."

As if to second Carca's statement, the leaves rustle above our heads, and five elves skid down the smooth tree trunks before dropping to the ground front of us. Their bows are tightly strung, the arrow tips pointing directly at the wolf's face. Carca growls contemptuously.

"Relax," I whisper to him. "They won't shoot unless they find us to be a direct threat."

"If you are to speak, than speak loud enough for us all to hear!" demands one of the Elves. He is not one familiar to me, but his beauty is no less exquisite. His pale features are framed by imposing brows and intense amber eyes that are bright with distrust.

"We bring you no ill-will," I say calmly, sheathing my sword. "You may have heard of me before; my name is Keira. I stayed in the Woodland-Realm for quite some time after I was injured by Orcs."

The blonde elf squints doubtfully at me before gesturing to Carca.

"And who is the one who bears you?"

"His name is Carca. He is the last of the black wolves and has been my companion for many days." My words seem to have an effect on the elves, as they reluctantly lower their bows.

"I have heard your name before," he tells me. "You were the one the Prince had sent to Imladris, are you not?"

"I am," I reply somewhat guiltily, "and I am grateful for that, for Rivendell has helped me uncover many secrets. One of which is that I have a half-sister that lives among you. I wish to see her, if you don't mind." The elf frowns.

"Do you mean to say that your sister is an elf?"

"Yes."

He blinks at me for a moment before speaking in a much sterner tone.

"Very well. It seems that I have no other choice than to believe you… for now. I will abide to take you to the Woodland Realm, but the wolf shall be left here."

I cast a glance at Carca before grudgingly sliding down from his back. Though I still do not have full trust in the wolf, I can't help but feel safer when I am atop him.

"Can I request something of you?" I ask the elf. Without waiting for an answer, I continue. "Promise me that you will not try to capture him? Carca has been through enough torment from the Rivendell elves." The blonde elf raises an elegant eyebrow before giving a curt nod.

"As long as he does not infiltrate our borders again, I will see to it that no harm will come to him, be it by the elves doing." I give him a grateful smile before turning to the wolf.

"I guess this is goodbye."

"It is," he says simply. His yellow eyes observe me for a moment as I fumble for something to say.

"Well… thank you for taking me here, and may the path that lies before you lead to a brighter future than what has come to pass."

"You were true to your word, and for that I am grateful." Carca dips his head to me. "Farewell, Keira, and may the stars shine brightly for you."

"Farewell, Carca," I say, and then he is gone. Like a dark wind the wolf furls throughout the trees before disappearing into the forest. With a heavy heart, I turn to look at the elves standing before me.

"Shall we go, then?"

The elves nod their agreement, and I smile gratefully. In my mind, however, I am praying that the Elven King is in a lenient mood. Will he let me see my sister, or will his stubbornness and pride be both of our downfalls?

Nevertheless, I force myself to look to the path ahead as the elves lead me deep within the dark clutches of Mirkwood.

* * *

><p><strong>Cliffhanger! :D Hope you guys liked the new chapter! As always, feel free to review... hearing from you guys really makes my day! <strong>

**-PC**


	12. Reunion

**Here's Chapter 12! Enjoy! :)**

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><p>The air has grown dank and heavy as a layer of fog sweeps across the forest floor. The elves seem to be quite aware of their surroundings, but the dense mist makes it nigh impossible for my eyes to depict what lies ahead. Nearly half a day has passed since Carca's leave, and already I have begun to tire. I am lagging a good few feet behind the group of elves. They seem to have grown increasingly worried for me as time goes by, judging by their continuously glancing back to make sure that I am still following them.<p>

"We are nearing the palace," says one of the elves. "You must be very tired from your journey; I am sorry to make you walk so far."

"No, no, it's fine," I reply, waving him off. "A little exercise is good for me… on occasion." The patrol continues to shoot me concerned looks before continuing along the cobblestone pathway snaking its way through the forest floor. Every step sends an unpleasant aching sensation prickling upwards into my legs.

_Probably the after effects of that wretched poison, _I think bitterly. _Will I ever be free of it?_

"Am I right to assume that you fled Rivendell without permission?" inquires the blonde elf.

"Yes. I had no other choice."

"Would it have been such a feat to ask for a horse instead of that wolf-creature… Carca, was it?"  
>"They would've told me off," I say. "Lord Elrond had not yet proclaimed me well enough to travel."<p>

"Yet you went anyway?"

"Obviously."

My sarcastic comment dissolves our conversation in an instant. From then on we walk in a tense silence, broken only by the calling of the birds as they flutter throughout the tree tops. I find myself wishing to be among them; to be free from the mess I seem to have drug myself into. What a life it would be.

But it is not my life.

* * *

><p>A long, dragging half-hour passes by before the hollow blast of a horn signifies our arrival in the Woodland Realm. The trees is not as sickened in this spanse of forest; the elves' nature magic is no doubt at its strongest in these parts.<p>

"We have arrived," states the blonde elf. I sigh with relief as the thick haze clears out from the forest, revealing the front of the massive palace. The thin bridge leading up to the front gates is empty, save the presence of two guards stationed at its either side. The massive river beneath it bubbles and churns with a powerful current.

_Who blew the horn, I wonder?_

My answer comes not two seconds later. I watch as the two guards step forward and heave open the gates, revealing a single figure standing behind them. The faded light makes it difficult to make out the person's identity, only that they have begun to stride out onto the bridge. Something about their gate seems familiar, but I cannot place it right away.

"You return early, Airion."

_Valar forbid. _

A thin stream of sunlight filters down onto the bridge, illuminating the Prince of Mirkwood himself. His gaze is trained solely on the patrols of elves; he has not yet seen me. My hands grow clammy with sweat as Legolas reaches the end of the bridge and begins to walk up the trail to meet them. Suddenly, my heart is gripped with a numbing fear, and I dance away into the shadows of the trees before the elf sees me.

"How can I face him again?" I whisper to myself. "He didn't mean for me to come back, yet here I am again." A shudder runs up my spine as I peer around the tree I am currently hidden behind.

"There was an orc pack attempting to breach our north border," I hear an elf—Airion, judging by the voice—state firmly. "They were pursuing something."

"And what would that something be?"

My eyes widen as Airion gestures behind him, right where I had been standing moments ago. He frowns upon noticing my disappearance, and Legolas raises an eyebrow. My heart hammers against my chest as Airion begins to stammer.

"She… she was just right there, I swear it."

"'She'?" questions the Prince. Moments later, I see a knowing expression flicker across his features, and he looks out into the forest. "Did you catch her name, by chance?"

"Yes, my lord. She has been here once before, I am told. Her name is—" Before the elf has a chance to finish, I gather up my courage before stepping out from behind the tree.

"Keira," I finish strongly. "Her name is Keira." All heads swivel in my direction, and Airion smiles triumphantly.

"Ah, there you are!" he says cheerily, turning back to look at Legolas.

The Prince makes no reply. He doesn't even seem to acknowledge that Airion has spoken. Instead, his gaze is completely fixated on me. The elf's icy stare seems to penetrate into my very soul, but I force myself to brave through it as I make my way towards them. My lips twitch with amusement as Legolas's head bobs up and down in rhythm with my steps. The smile fades away quickly, however, as I come to a stop before the group. The elves cast sharp glances at me before stepping aside, creating a straight lane between me and the Prince.

I don't bridge the gap. Not immediately, at least. For a long moment I just stand there, unmoving and unblinking, and allow Legolas' steely gaze to pierce into my own. His eyes are just like I remember, if not more beautiful than before. As blue and shining as sapphires, they burn into me with a fierce intensity that derives me of any secrecy I had wished to retain.

"Prince," I say blandly, giving him a curt nod.

"Keira," he replies. The formality of his tone hides away any emotion from his voice. Not even his face shows any sign of anger or irritation. It is only within his bold blue eyes that I can see what lurks behind his seemingly nonchalant stature. There is an angry fire within them that would make even Thranduil's menacing stare look weak. Legolas is willing me, _daring _me, to explain myself. I manage to resist the impulse and instead settle on giving him a small smile.

"You must excuse my intrusion, but there is someone here that I must speak too."

"And who would that be?"

The Prince's calm expression falters, briefly replaced with a fearsome glare. Suddenly nauseous, I feel a wave of bile threaten to creep into my throat, but I manage to force it back down before I can make a fool of myself. The stress of seeing Legolas again has affected me strongly. Why am I suddenly so afraid of him?

"I—I need to speak with the King," I stammer out. "There's something… erm, important that I need to tell him."

"Anything you wish to tell the King can also be told to me." Legolas turns to Airion and mutters something to him. His voice is just low enough that I have trouble making out the words, but Airion seems to understand just fine. He nods to the Prince before giving a polite bow to me and striding over to the bridge. The rest of the patrol follows suit before disappearing through the gates not a moment later.

Almost as soon as the twin doors swing shut, Legolas lets loose on me.

"What in the Valar's name are you doing here?" he snaps severely. I cringe at his sharp tone and dig my fingernails into my palms. My mouth seems to be filled with metal, for I cannot seem to find the strength to speak.

"Well? Are you going to tell me or not?" The Prince crosses his arms over his chest and just stares at me.

"Okay, okay!" I finally manage to get out. "It's just…"

"Just, what?"

"I had originally planned on telling this all to King Thranduil."

"Am I any different?" he growls. "The king is my father, and I am his son. Anything you tell me will also be conveyed to him."

"You think I don't know that?" I bite back. Seeing as how anger will not make the situation any better, I force myself to continue in a calmer tone. "While I was in Rivendell, I met an elf there that claimed to be my long-lost mother. She told me that I had a half-sister that lived here. That is why I came back; I want to see if she is telling the truth."

Legolas's expression remains unchanging for a long time before, finally, he speaks again.

"So you are half-elven?" he inquires.

"It would seem so, yes."

We are both silent for a long moment as Legolas ponders over my words. His gaze never leaves my face, whereas I am constantly looking up at the birds flying overhead.

My eyes have just settled on a lovely ruby-chested robin when I feel something brush across my face. Looking down, my eyes bug when I see Legolas leaning in towards me. He appears to be examining something as his fingertips trail across my cheekbone.

"What?" I ask, then let out a muted yelp when his thumb skirts across my arrow wound. He glances at me with a concerned expression, and I force myself to speak once more. "Oh, that? It's nothing, really."

"From past experiences, I've learned not to trust your judgment when it comes to injuries." I feel a blush spread across my cheeks when I realize that he is referring to my ordeal with the orcs. Legolas looks away from me in order to fish something out of his tunic pocket. After a few moments, he pulls out a small green leaf shaped vaguely like an arrowhead.

"Chew this; it should help to stem any infection."

"Fine," I say, taking the leaf from his outstretched palm, "but don't touch it again!" I attempt to swat away his hand as it begins to stretch out towards my cheek once more. The action, however, only results in him grabbing hold of my wrist. His hand is soft as only an elf's can be, and I shiver slightly.

_That's it. You've gone mad._

"Keira," he says lowly, eyes finding mine once more. "My father is not going to like that you have returned. To him, you are an intruder. Nothing more."

I bite down on my tongue before I can say something stupid like, "What am I to you?"

"I know," I say, dropping my gaze to the ground. "But I have to see if she's here. I just need to know if she's alive." Legolas promptly releases my wrist.

"As would any sibling, but the times here in Mirkwood are dark." I glance up to see the elf staring off into the distance. "It is rumored that a dark force grows in the east. A malice unlike any other."

"What could it be?"

"I have not the slightest idea, only that it is very powerful."

A chill of fear traces its way up through my fingertips, and I shudder as a cold breeze furls through the forest. It winds its way through both mine and Legolas' hair, mixing ebony with gold.

"Come, Keira," says the Prince softly, brushing his hand against mine. "You are tired and weary. Rest for a time, and then we will talk of your predicament." Nodding, I pop the leaf in my mouth and follow him down the trail.

* * *

><p>Legolas leads me through the winding tunnels of the palace, nodding occasionally to the other elves passing by. They greet him similarly but cast odd glances at me. I have taken up to hiding within the Prince's tall shadow to avoid being seen altogether.<p>

"What are you doing?" he asks suddenly, noting my strange behavior.

"I am about as welcome here as a wolf is in a sheep pasture." I let out a shrill bleak as my foot catches on a patch of uneven rock. Legolas reaches back and grabs hold of my forearm before I perform a rather messy face plant. I nod my thanks to him before continuing. "The other elves don't like me after my antics the last time I was here, and since that is the case, it is best to remain unseen as much as possible."

"Your antics also happened to save my life." Legolas shoots me a severe look. "If my kin refuse to see that, then they themselves are at fault."

"I guess so." The orange lantern light reflects gently off of the elf's skin, giving it a smooth and silken appearance. As soon as he turns his face away from me, I feel my eyes travel down to the blond hair draped down his back. Beneath it lie his twin blades, notched firmly within their scabbards. Seeing the knives once more reminds me of something, moving me to speak once more.

"How's your shoulder? Has it healed well?"

Legolas glances back at me, his lips twitching with amusement.

"It has. The medicine of the wood-elves may not be the greatest in Arda, but our healers are skilled enough to treat a wound such as mine." His gaze travels down to my hip. "And what of your own injuries?"

"I'm alive," I say lowly. "The Rivendell elves treated me well; it is not yet fully healed, but it should be in a couple days." Legolas nods his agreement before coming to a stop in front of an archway leading into a dark room.

"Rest here for the night," he says. I look up at him and blink thoughtfully.

"You know, you don't have to do this. I would be perfectly content to look for my sister now instead of later."  
>"Content maybe, but no less exhausted."<p>

Seeing as my argument is going nowhere, I let out a sigh of defeat.

"Thank you," I mumble before ducking into the archway.

"I will return for you at dawn," he says. His soft footsteps begin to fade away into the distance, and I am asleep not a minute later.

I awake to the sound of knocking.

"Who is it?" I mumble sleepily, rubbing my eyes before blinking them open. Light streams into the room through the glass window above me, illuminating a small shape fluttering behind it. The creature, whatever it may be, appears to want inside. Yawning, I stumble to my feet before placing my palms on the window sill. I now see that the silhouette is of a small bird, which has now begun to peck at the glass with its beak.

"Hold on, little guy," I say, eyeing the small latch near the center of the window. Inching it over a notch, I watch as the window separates into two sections before swinging open. It reveals a small bluebird, barely as long as my pointer finger.

"You look familiar. Have we met before?"

The bird trills before fluttering inside the room and alighting on my shoulder. Its marble eyes look up at me curiously, and I smile.

"I remember now; you're the one Legolas showed me in the courtyard!" The small creature blinks its agreement as I extend a finger for it to perch on. It obliges instantly, and I hold up the creature to see it more closely. The bluebird has all the same markings as the one in the courtyard, save the coloring of its eyes. At first they appear black, but in the sunlight I can see that they are scattered sparsely with flecks of gold.

_Strange, _I think with a frown, _perhaps I overlooked that the last time I was here._

"Well, little guy, I'm happy that you remember me." I waggle my finger, hoping to encourage the bird to take flight, but it doesn't budge. Instead, its tiny feet seem to grip on tighter. "Fine," I say with a smile, "I guess there's nothing wrong with you hanging around for a bit." The animal tweets happily and gives its wings a small flap before hoping back onto my shoulder. I grin with amusement before making my way over to the archway.

Just when I am about to wonder what is taking Legolas so long, I peer out of the arch to see the elf appear around the bend in the tunnel. My feathered companion cocks its head curiously as I step out to meet him.

"Good morning, Legolas," I say as cheerily as possible. The bird tweets a greeting of its own.

"Keira," says Legolas, nodding to me as he comes to stand before the archway. His gaze comes to rest on the bird, and I smile before reaching up and stroking the creature.

"I've made friends!"

"I see." The elf squints at the animal before turning to look at me. "Now that you have awaken, I will seet that you are properly fed."

"Even though I infiltrated your borders and broke Carca out of Rivendell?"

The words are out of my lips before I can stop them. My cheeks grow warm as the elf's eyes flash with knowing.

"You did _what?_"

"I… it was just that he… that we…" My words jumble together in an incoherent mess, and I bow my head before continuing. "There was no other way to escape. They were keeping him locked up in their forge, so when an orc pack tried to breach their borders, I took the opportunity to make a bargain with him."

"Who is this 'Carca' that you refer to?"

"He's, um… he's a wolf."

"A _wolf?"_ says Legolas icily.

"Now hold on," I say, waving my hands in a frantic attempt to calm the elf. "Carca's no ordinary 'wolf', so to speak. He and I were acquainted once, back before the orcs burned my city. Trust me when I say that he is no longer a thing to be feared."

"You make it sound as if this creature can speak!"  
>"That's because he can. No one knows exactly how, but he can. Carca is familiar with many different dialects; I wouldn't be surprised if he had some elvish up his sleeve, as well."<p>

Legolas glowers at me dangerously.

"Imladris could have been your home for many moons if you had chosen to stay there."

I laugh sarcastically. "Yeah, like _that _would work out. Elrond knew that I was a half-elf from the moment your patrol left me there…"

"We only left you so that your wounds could heal," the elf interjects.

"Whatever," I say, waving him off. "Now back to the subject. I knew that Imaladaris—"

"Imladris."

"Cut it out! I knew that _Rivendell _could never suit my needs, nor could I ever find a place of sanctuary among its people. They were far too wary of me."

"Wary of you?" The Prince chuckles softly. "How could anyone ever be wary of _you_?"

His words burn me fiercely, but I force myself to push my emotions aside.

"They didn't like that I was a half-elf. I was impure in their eyes, though I have yet to understand why. Carca tried to explain it to me, but it still makes no sense."

"You say that it was your mother who informed you of your mixed blood?"

"Yes. She lives in Rivendell and somehow heard that I was brought there." The Prince's eyes flash with interest.

"And what was her name?" he inquires. Frowning, I reply in an uneasy voice.

"Faelwen."

The effect the name has on Legolas is obvious. His face pales considerably, leaving the skin a pasty white color. His mouth twitches as if he wishes to say more, but instead he remains silent. The elf's wordless gaze stabs into me like a steely dagger, and my fingertips quiver in anxiety as he takes a step forward. Legolas is so close that I can make out the green flecks scattered in his eyes. Our proximity makes me fidget.

"Come," he says finally. "Let us go to the dining hall." His voice has a hard edge to it, but he slips past me before I can question him about it. Sighing, I set my jaw before following after him.

The gates swing open with a low rumble as Legolas and I arrive at yet another tunnel system. The long walk combined with the stress of crossing multiple chasms has taken its toll on my body. Even the smallest of obstacles can prove incredibly hard for me to deal with. The orc poison has refused to give up its hold of me.

Paling slightly, I am about to take another step forward when I feel Legolas's hand on my arm, steadying me. His gentle yet firm grip keeps me from stumbling.

"Thank you," I breathe gratefully. "And I'm sorry if my return here has caused you trouble. It was not my intention." The elf glances down at me, his blond hair brushing ever so slightly against my shoulder.

"Do not be," he replies stiffly. "I am…capable of handling situations such as yours."

_What in the name of the Valar is wrong with him? _

"Prince?" I ask. "What is the matter?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean _you, _Legolas. Why do you behave so strangely? Has something gone amiss?"

My question seems to hit a nerve with the elf, and I feel his hand slip away from my elbow. When he makes no reply, I halt mid stride and refuse to go further.

"I have been to the darkest, filthiest places in the past five days, and this is how I am treated upon my return? You keep secrets like I am no more important than a speck of dust!" A fire seems to alight within me, and I stubbornly cross my arms over my chest. "No, I will not have it. Tell me now, or I swear on all things good and just that I will make your life as miserable as mine has been."

"Do not threaten me, Keira."

"Why not? It's not like you're going to do anything about it!" My fists clench in anger, and I am about to explode when the elf beats me to it.

"_Enough!"_

The shout echoes down the hall and rings in my ears. I recoil sharply, my back slamming painfully into the stone wall behind me. The bluebird trills with alarm, and I stroke its head to calm it. Legolas's shadow stretches over me just as my trembling legs finally give way. I sink down to the ground, defeated. My eyes flick nervously around at my surrounds, promptly settling on everything, anything, except the elf standing before me.

I don't know how much time passes before I realize that Legolas is crouched down in front of me. It feels like decades have gone by, centuries even, before he speaks to me.

"I dislike confrontation just as much as you do," he states. "But if you cannot learn to control your tongue, then I will be forced to control it for you." Still avoiding his gaze, I nod once.

"I am sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Well I do."

I look up at him sheepishly. "What do you think is wrong with me?"

"You have been through a great deal of torment this past month. It is only natural that you would grow more and more irritable as time goes on. I would, as well."

_He's making excuses for me. Why?_

"I'm sorry." My voice is hitched at the end by a knot that has begun to form in my throat.

_Stop it, Keira. You cannot cry now. Not in front of him!_

In a desperate attempt to hide my emotions, I turn away and allow a tear to slip silently down my cheek. My efforts are in vain, however, when I feel Legolas's fingers trace along my jawline and tilt my face towards him.

"Keira," he says gently. "Do not be ashamed. There is no need to be."

"But I am!" I cry out. "How could I ever become like this? Always hurting people, always shutting them out…that's all I do, Legolas! How could I become such a _monster?"_

Legolas grabs hold of both of my hands before hoisting me to me feet. My knees wobble as I try desperately to conceal my sobs.

_Control… control!_

"You are no monster."

I look up to see Legolas gazing down on me. His blue eyes sparkle softly as his hands slide up from my wrists and onto my shoulders. My breath hitches in my lungs as he leans in close to me before planting a gentle kiss on my forehead. His lips linger on my skin for a brief moment before he pulls away. The elf's eyes find mine once more, and I blink in shock.

_What just happened?_

"You are my friend," he finishes. "And because of that I will protect you from things you need not know."

I snort. "Then some friend I've been, barging into your home like I own the place. I don't belong here." A sigh escapes my lips. "I don't belong anywhere, really."

"Perhaps you have not yet found that place where you do belong."

I frown as the elf and I continue walking.

"If that is true, than how will I know that I have found it?"

"None can tell, though some do say that it is not something that you see with your eyes, but feel within your heart…"

"Hello?"

The low voice sounds from somewhere behind us, and I look over my shoulder to see none other than Taluharn standing in the hallway. His eyes flash with recognition as our gazes meet, and his mouth falls open in shock.

"It cannot be," he says disbelievingly. "You were in Imladris, nearly two hundred miles away!"

"Was," I say, turning round to face him, "but no longer."

"How can that be?"

"I came here to find something. Something that has been kept from me for quite some time."

Taluharn blinks before shaking his head and turning to Legolas.

"There is something you must see to," he says in elvish. "The King requests your presence at the front gates. Our prisoner has arrived." Taluharn sets his jaw and, casting a glance at me, adds, "Bring the girl." The elf then gives a modest bow and vanishes back down the hallway.

_What is with the elves and their prisoners?_

"There is something that I must see to," says Legolas curtly. "You will come with me, as there is no other place to leave you."

"Why is that?"

The elf eyes me knowingly.

"You will see in time."

With that Legolas grabs hold of my wrist and hauls me back down the hallway from whence we came.

_So much for breakfast._

* * *

><p>By the time we reach the front gates, my legs are tired and numb from the long walk. It is an immense relief when Legolas tells me that we are almost there.<p>

"What is it that you must see?" I ask him.  
>"Something that we have been hunting for a long, long time." I frown, pondering over his words.<p>

We are just about to round the next corner when a piteous scream slices through the air.

"We hates it! We _hates _it!"

"What in the name of the Valar?" I mutter. Not a moment later, Legolas and I emerge into the wide room leading up to the gates. The twin doors are swung open wide, revealing two figures silhouetted by the sunlight. One is tall and lithe; an elf, no doubt. The other is around the same height but is bulked slightly by the bag slung over his shoulder. His hair is a dull brown color and close cropped to his shoulders. The beginnings of a beard have given his face a shadowed, severe appearance.

He is a human man, the first one I have seen in years. My heart leaps up into my throat as both him and the elf turn to look at us. It is in that moment when I notice the third being in their midst. The creature is quite short, reaching only to the man's knees, and is poised on all fours like an animal. The skin on its boney frame is as white as snow, giving it a translucent and altogether vile appearance. As Legolas and I near, I can just make out two abnormally large blue eyes in its sunken face.

Suddenly, the gangly creature lets out a howl of anguish and lunges for the open gates. The only thing stopping it from escaping is the thick rope bound twice around its neck. The man standing beside it tugs roughly on the end of the leash, and the creature falls back with a shriek.

"Why's they doing this to us, Precious?" it cries. "Why does mean men hurt us?"

"Silence!" barks the man, and the creature whimpers pitifully before cowering low to the ground. The elven guard standing beside it whispers something to the rugged stranger, who then gives a nod in reply before handing over the rope leash. No sooner have I laid eyes on the pale being than it is being dragged off into a tunnel to my right.

Legolas takes the opportunity to approach the man. They exchange a bow to each other before their gazes shift to me.

"What was that thing?" I gasp out, eyes wide with horror.

"His name is Gollum," comes a gruff reply. I glance up, surprised to find the brown-haired man looking down at me.

"Gollum?" My feet make no sound as I tentatively approach the stranger. "I have heard that name before. Is he not the creature that dwells in the goblin tunnels to the west?"

"You are right, my lady, but he shall no longer find residence there." The man cocks his head at me before continuing. "And who might you be?"

"She is a guest," cuts in Legolas. "

"I do have a name, you know," I say pointedly. The elf shoots me a cautioning glare, and I raise an eyebrow at him. The man, meanwhile, regards our exchange with curious blue eyes. "My name is Keira," I continue after a tense silence.

"A lovely title." The man places a hand on his chest and dips his head to me. "You may call me Strider."

_Strider, _I ponder. _What a strange name._

"Well, it is very nice to meet you, Strider." He smiles warmly at me before turning to look at Legolas.

"I have been hunting that creature for many days and many nights," he says in fluent elvish. "Thranduil has agreed to keep him locked in your dungeons."

"It pains me to have such a vile thing kept here, but it is a wise decision nonetheless. I will see to it that he is properly contained."

Strider places a hand on the elf's shoulder, a gesture which Legolas returns with a smile.

"Thank you, mellon nin. It is good to see you again."

"I pray that we may meet again soon," says Legolas. Strider nods before turning from him, preparing to take his leave, when he casts a glance back at me. His lips are parted as if to form a word, but he says nothing. Instead, I watch as his brow furrowing into a look of confusion.

I am just about to ask what is wrong when I hear what sounds like crying. Confused, I look over at my shoulder and let out a gasp of shock. Standing behind me is a tawny-haired she-elf, her hands clamped over her mouth to stifle the sobs racking her body. My startled gaze is met with a pair of piercing hazel eyes, framed by a thick web of amber lashes that drip with tears.

A small cry escapes the she-elf's lips, and she smiles wryly before throwing her arms around my neck.

"Keira… my dear sister, you have come."

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you all enjoyed the new chapter! This one took me awhile to write… Legolas and Keira's dialogue scenes are the most challenging for me to word out, but I love writing them nonetheless.<strong>

**Feel free to drop by some reviews; I love love LOVE hearing from you all!**

**-PC**


	13. Taken

**Back again! Sorry again about the wait… I have been very busy lately! But don't worry, I won't be abandoning the story any time soon! :)**

* * *

><p>"Antiel?"<p>

The she-elf smiles before wiping a tear from her cheek.

"That is my name, yes. And I am right to assume that yours is still Keira?"

"It is," I say, "but how are you so familiar with it? Faelwen surely could not have told you of me!" There is a short pause. "Could she?"

"Our mother spoke of you whenever I would go to visit her. She had foreseen many times that you might yet have a role to play in the future of Arda. " Antiel puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. "But do not worry of such things, my sister. I have known of your existence for all the long years you have been alive. I knew that you would meet with Faelwen in Rivendell. I also knew that you would escape the Elven city to find me."

"But how _did _you know? And what's this talk of my having a 'role to play'?"

"Because I foresaw it," she says gently. "Faelwen's gift was also passed down to me, if you recall. Perhaps even you possess it to some extent." Antiel lets out a shaky sigh. "As for the events of the future, you need not yet know them. All I dare say to you is that dark times are upon us."

"Indeed they are," comes a voice from behind me. I look over my shoulder to see Strider raise up a hand. "Farewell." And with that he is gone.

"That must have been Estel," whispers Antiel as the gates swing shut. "I had been told that he was to bring the creature Gollum here to be imprisoned."

"Estel?" I inquire. "That was not the name he gave to me."

"The ranger goes by many titles, although the Elves prefer to call him Estel."

_Estel… the elvish word for hope. How very peculiar._

"So he is a ranger?"

"Yes."

Much to my surprise, the answer does not come from Antiel. It is, in fact, Legolas who speaks up. The elf strides briskly over to where my sister and I stand.

"Prince," the she-elf mumbles, giving a polite curtsy. Her billowing blue dress catches onto the light of the sun. The jewels set into its sloping neck line shimmer with the light of a thousand sapphires. Legolas nods once to her before turning to look at me.

"Until the morrow," he says softly. "I can see that you two will have some catching up to do."

"Yes," I reply, glancing to Antiel, "I believe so."

The Prince's lips twitche in a smile, and he bows gracefully before taking his leave. As he passes me, however, I catch onto words spoken softly into my ear.

"Meet me tonight in the courtyard. There is something that I must show you."

I glance up at him, and though our gazes meet for only a second, I know that whatever I must see is very important. My heart flutters with anxiety, and I feel the bluebird fidget upon my shoulder.

"I will be there," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. Legolas gazes at me for half a second before nodding and disappearing into one of the various tunnel exits. My eyes follow after him as he goes, and Antiel frowns.

"You act as if you have met the Prince before," she says softly. "Is that true?"

"It is. He and I, though not always on the best of terms, are surely able enough to be referred to as friends."

The she-elf lets out a squeaky laugh.

"Friends? With Legolas?" Antiel shakes her head. "That is not such an easy task, if you may know. Ever since…"

"Lothiriel's death, I know. It's just that I've always felt that we are alike in a way. That we've both lost something dear to us, and in that pain and grief we are united." I meet my sister's hazel gaze and sigh. "My father was killed by orcs a number of years ago, though it seems that time does not, in fact, heal the wounds of old."

"Indeed it doesn't, as the same pain resides in me as well. My father, Saeldur, was killed by the same means."

We stand in thoughtful silence for a moment, each coping with the grief that has stirred within our hearts. Eventually, when it seems that neither of us will speak again, Antiel's voice rings clear in my ears.

"You must be a very special person indeed to have acquired the Prince's friendship."

"Special?" I laugh. "No, I am not special. I am an accident, something that was never supposed to happen."

"But you are not! Everything that lives and breathes in this world has a purpose. Yours simply has yet to be fulfilled."

"I find it hard to believe that. For all I know, my purpose could have been to save Legolas's life when his patrol was ambushed. My purpose could have been to release Carca and allow him to live in freedom." The tone of my voice lowers when I mention the wolf. Carca and I may have gotten off to a rocky start, but I have found myself missing his company. It is almost as if there is some sort of strange bond connecting the two of us, for I almost feel as if he is present in this very room.

"Keira," says the elleth, "you think too lowly of yourself."

"That's not the first time someone's told me that."

Now it's Antiel's turn to sigh. She smiles at me sympathetically before her gaze travels over to my shoulder. An odd look flickers across her features.

"And who might this be?" she asks, reaching out towards the bird. The small creature seems nervous at first but eventually flaps over onto her outstretched finger.

"He came in through my window this morning and has made no move to leave me." The bluebird swivels its head to look at me before tweeting. Its glassy eyes stare ahead with a blank look.

"How intriguing. I have not known the birds that live here to be as friendly as this one. Perhaps it is not a native of Mirkwood."

"This is not the first time I've seen it." I extend a palm towards the animal. It hops onto it and hums contently as my thumb brushes along its feathered chest. "Legolas showed it to me the first time I came here."

"Did he, now?" Antiel looks up at me. Something about her conflicted expression makes me uneasy, and I shuffle my feet.

"Come now," she continues, looping her arm through mine. "There is much we must speak of."

* * *

><p>By the time Antiel and I part ways, my voice is hoarse and dry from our endless conversations. After all, filling someone in on your entire life is not the easiest of tasks. We spoke of many things; the past, the present, even the occasional thoughts of what the future might hold (though Antiel was very much against telling me anything that might 'change the outcome of my own fate.)<p>

Night has fallen by the time she has disappeared within her own room, and as I make my way through the tunnels, the Prince's words ring in my ears.

"_Meet me tonight in the courtyard. There is something I must show you."_

I feel my heart give a nervous flutter as I cross over a large chasm. Its black mouth yawns out beneath me, churning with the dark river that flows throughout the palace. What does Legolas want to tell me, I wonder? How important is it that it cannot wait until tomorrow?

"Lost!"

The terrible cry emanates from somewhere to the right, and I feel my muscles tense. I recognize that voice; it belongs to the creature Gollum, the gangly beast Strider brought in to be imprisoned.

"Precious!" it garbles out from the shadows. "My precious is lost! He took it from us!"

"Precious?" I mumble to myself. "I wonder what that is?"

"Baggins… _Baggins!"_

Gollum screams continue to echo along down the tunnels in which I travel. Though it has been weeks since I was last in Mirkwood, I can still remember how find the courtyard.

Hopefully.

As I wander throughout the halls, I can't help but think of how different Antiel and I look. Given that we are half-sisters, I would've thought that we would be more similar in appearance. Her soft, delicate features and amber hair are very different from my own; perhaps she inherited them from her father. I, on the other hand, acquired my mother's green eyes and fair skin, although mine is slightly tanned from spending days out in the sun. Deep-set scars cut jagged patterns into my forearms, not to mention the ugly remnants of my shoulder wound. The skin that once was flawless now bears an ugly patch of festered purple flesh. There is a tight line of scar tissue where the sword spilt through the muscle; it appears that not even the elves and all their medicines could prevent such an injury from becoming so grotesque.

Sighing, I shake my head as I arrive at the gates to the courtyard. Upon smelling the fresh scent of flower blossoms and apple trees, my lips curl into a smile. The bluebird lets out a warbled call before flapping its wings eagerly.

"Excited, are we?" I ask, stroking its head. The creature tweets in reply while craning its neck toward the gates.

"Prince Legolas requests your audience in the courtyard."

A rude curse of surprise escapes my lips, and I nearly jump out of my skin as an Elven guard emerges from the shadows surrounding the doorway. He is clad in a deep shade of green, and though I cannot quite make out his features, the tone of his voice is familiar.

"Taluharn?" I inquire softly. The figure strides forward into the orangey glow of the lanterns, revealing the face of my blonde-haired friend.

"Hello, Keira," he says with a smile. "It pleases me to see you well once more." Grinning, I step up to him before brushing a hand against his elbow.

"And I, you. I trust that everything has gone smoothly while I was gone?"

"It has. The King does not send patrols out as often. It appears that the orcs have finally decided to retreat from our borders."

My brow furrows. _That's odd._

"Is that so?"

Taluharn nods.

"Well," I say, smoothing out my dress. Antiel had insisted upon fetching me new attire, as my original outfit was dirty and altogether vile looking. "I suppose I'd better not keep the Prince waiting. It was nice talking to you again, Taluharn."

He smiles warmly and bids me farewell. I do the same before slipping around him and out through the gates.

A gust of wind slams into me almost as soon as I have stepped through the doors. The night breeze is chilly compared to the relatively warm weather in Rivendell. It shocks me, and I shiver as goose bumps appear on my arms. After a moment of hesitation, I force myself to turn and brave whatever lies before me.

What that thing is, however, is nothing that I could have expected.

Legolas stands in the middle of the courtyard, his body angled towards the trees lining the side of the pathway. In front of him stands a lithe white horse, its speckled fur shinning silver in the rays of the moon. I blink, confused. My eyes travel along the curvature of the animal's back, then down to its lean forelegs. A lump forms in my throat when I see a darker patch of fur marring its otherwise unblemished shoulder.

Realization slams into me like a ton of bricks. Flashbacks of arrows volleying into the night. Visions of them felling Gwestiel with a single black shaft. The piteous screams piercing into the air, and the blood running dry onto frozen ground. Crimson snow. Black orcs. Two blue eyes, filled with pain, pleading for me to help them. To save them.

The gates slam shut behind me as I stumble numbly out into the courtyard. The loud crash that resonates afterwards alerts both Legolas and the horse, and they both look over at me. The mare perks her ears. Her familiar eyes bore into me like daggers of ice, and I feel a sob rack my body.

"Gwestiel," I whisper. The animal lets out a whinny and tosses her mane. Legolas smiles knowingly before loosening the grip on her reigns. The horse tugs free with a breathless snort before cantering over to me. I, in turn, stumble towards her before throwing my arms around her white neck. Elvish nonsense spills out from my lip as I leans back and take her face in my hands. Gwestiel gazes back at me before nickering softly and pressing her forehead into my own.

_He brought her back. She's alive._

"Legolas," I say, looking over to him with teary eyes. "You saved her."

"It was only by your actions that I was able to. If you had not followed through with my command, none of us would be here to tell the tale." The elf takes several steps forward until I can feel his breath on the side of my face. "Her rider could not take her back; she did not wish to bear him any longer."

I blink with shock. "What are you saying?"

"Gwestiel is far more knowledgeable than any horse of man could hope to be. She knows a true rider when she sees one." Legolas takes the reigns in hand before holding them out to me. "She is yours to keep, if you are willing."

"Am I willing?" My emotions get the best of me, and I feel tears spill out onto my cheeks. "Legolas, I don't know what to say! She is a beautiful animal, but are you sure you are willing to give her to me?"

"She is bonded to you," he says gently. "My opinion matters not."

"You're a Prince, Legolas. Your opinion _always _matters."

"As does yours."

We stand in silence for a moment as I stroke Gwestiel's velvety nose. My mind is buzzing with enough thoughts to drive a girl mad. What would I do with her? Would he let me take her back with me if I choose to return to the Brown Lands?

Finally, my lips open to speak, but Legolas beats me to it.

"I assume that you have heard of the orcs' leave of the forest?"

"Taluharn told me," I reply. "Though I have trouble making sense of it. Why would they retreat so suddenly when all this time they have been trying to infiltrate your borders?"

"That I cannot say."

I ponder the prince's words before smiling mischievously.

"What is it?" he asks, then more urgently, "_What?"_

"You!" I say. "You always have this look about you, like there's something else you should be doing. Do you ever want to get away, Legolas? Just for a few moments?" I pause, fishing for words, before continuing. "Doesn't being a Prince ever get old?"

"I have duties, Keira, and because of that I cannot allow my own opinions to contradict what must be done."

Smirking, I reach forward and smack him on the elbow.

"You are a liar!"

"A liar, you say?" The elf's eyes twinkle playfully. "How rude of you to adorn someone with such title."

"Well how rude of _you_ to lie to me in the first place. Be honest with me, Legolas!"

"As I have been the entire time," he retorts.

"Fine then," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "I guess you leave me no other choice. Prince Legolas, I hereby order you to set aside a half hour in which to get away from your 'duties.'"

The Prince raises an eyebrow.

"Tomorrow morning, we'll go riding," I specify. When Legolas makes no move to reply, I huff. "Come on, you can't be that busy!"

"Your wounds have not yet healed, Keira. You need your rest." His eyes glaze over with worry. "And just because the orcs have gone does not mean that the forest is bare of danger."

I shoot him an annoyed look, and Legolas sticks up his chin defiantly.

"Legolas," I chide, "you sound as if the prospect of danger s_cares _you."

"Does it not yourself?"

"As I've said before, I'm not fearful of what lurks in the dark. Besides, you're the best archer I've ever seen. Any creature foolish enough to cross you would be felled before it could second-guess itself."

The elf smiles despite himself before glancing back at the gates. His breath, fogged from the cold, stirs in the air.

"If you are so intent on this," he says finally, "than I see that arguing is pointless. Meet me here at dawn, and let that be the end of it." I feel like jumping for joy. I actually won an argument, a real _argument! _Legolas turns back, as if to leave, before stopping abruptly. His shoulder muscles grow tense as the seconds pass, as if he is struggling with some inner conflict.

We stand in an awkward silence that seems to drag out for a millennia before, finally, the elf turns around and blinks at me. His lips are agape, forming words that have yet to be spoken. The Prince's eyes shine as pale as ice in the moonlight, and suddenly I find myself wanting to draw towards them. Deep within my core I yearn to touch his flawless features, to feel his soft skin beneath my fingertips. To know what it would be like if our lips were to close this distance between us.

So close.

Inches, moments, heartbeats away. What if I were to do such a thing? What would he think? I feel my hands inching up from my sides, willing themselves to clutch onto his armored chest. Pull him into me and pretend that there was never anything separating us. My eyelids grow leaden as I lean forward, my breath mingling with his in the cold night air.

So close.

"Sleep well, Keira."

The Prince's strong words snap me right out of my trance. The connection pulling me forward shatters like a pane of glass. My brow knits together in confusion, and I shake my head to clear my thoughts. When I open my eyes, I am meet with a gaze harder than iron. Legolas takes a step back from me and, bowing stiffly, swivels on heel before marching out of the courtyard. There is a stormy tension left in his wake.

I stand on the cobblestones, alone and cold, left with nothing but numb lips and a heart that yearns for what I can never have.

* * *

><p>By the time the sun breaks over the horizon, my cheeks are caked with tears. My entire body is stiff from the sobs that racked it throughout the night, and despite my efforts to conceal them, they did not entirely go unnoticed.<p>

Caladwen, of all people, had just returned from gathering herbs when she heard the horrid racket coming from my room. The elf maid rushed in immediately; asked me what was wrong. I lied to her and said that I was having trouble dealing with having left my mother. Though the story was hardly believable, Caladwen seemed to buy it and was quick to comfort me.

"Perhaps you may see her again soon," she had said, patting my shoulder gently. "Rivendell is not all that far away. King Thranduil may let you visit her sometime, if you choose to stay here with your sister."

Long hours passed by before the she-elf decided that her words of encouragement were doing nothing for me. She had finally settled on getting me a soothing mix of herbal tea and a soft piece of cloth with which to dry my tears. All the while oblivious to the real reason of my sorrow.

"What was I thinking?"

The words come out rasped and hoarse as I lean up into a sitting position, gazing out of the window above my sleeping pallet. Legolas and I had developed a steady friendship, but now even that seems to be in jeopardy. My antics the night before might have ruined any chance I had of regaining a normal relationship with him.

I guess I'll know this morning. After all, we are supposed to go riding today.

Groaning at the thought, I stagger weakly to my feet before stretching and bustling over to my nightstand. I pull open one of the drawers and, after a few seconds of shuffling through the piles of clothes, single out a comfortable-looking outfit consisting of grey leggings and a dark red top. Its rich color is pleasing to the eye, and I stretch out my arms before changing into it.

After combing my fingers through my hair, I am just about to walk out of the room when I hear a familiar rapping on the window.

"You again," I mumble. An exasperated tweet sounds from outside the glass, and I roll my eyes before flipping open the latch. A very familiar bluebird launches itself into the room almost as soon as the windows swing open. It flies laps around the ceiling before alighting on my shoulder with a crow of triumph.

"A proud thing, aren't you?" The bird trills before pecking me in the ear. I winch as its beak pinches my earlobe. Apparently it doesn't take to well to insults.

"Sorry," I apologize. When the bird makes not further move to injure me, I continue. "It doesn't look like you can come with me today, little guy." I give the animal a playful tap on the head before grasping its little body in my palm. It flaps half-heartedly as I bring it up in front of my face. "Maybe next time." The creature bows its head sadly before squeezing out of my hand. It flutters up into the air and, taking one last look at me, darts back out the window from which it came. Smiling wryly, I push the latch shut before turning and striding briskly out of the room.

* * *

><p>The dawn breeze is chilled with snow as Gwestiel canters out into the frost-bitten forest. The trees sway above me, their branches creaking and groaning with every gust of wind. Several small woodland creatures peer out from the hollowed trunks; I can just make out their beady eyes admist the darkness. Thin tendrils of sunlight stretch out through the canopy of leaves, bathing the forest in rays of gold.<p>

"Legolas, are you there?" I call, looking over my shoulder. The gateway in the hedge, having been lowered down for our passage, remains bare of life. I growl with annoyance before propping my elbows on Gwestiel's neck. "What's taking him so long, eh? Aren't elves supposed to be a quick sort?"

"Yes, actually, we are."

Jumping slightly, I glance back to see a pearly white horse trotting up beside me. The prince sits atop it, his blue eyes unblinking as he gazes at me. Seeing him again, even after our brief greeting in the courtyard, does nothing but bring to mind the previous night. That thought in itself makes my palms sweat, and I clear my throat.

"So," I begin, "where do you want to go?"

"There is a pathway up ahead that leads to the river bank. We could go there, if you'd like."

"Sounds pleasant," I say, though my tone is bordering on sarcastic. Legolas looks at me oddly before spurring his horse forward. The stallion bounds ahead, leaving Gwestiel and I in its wake. Snow kicked up by the animal's hooves splatters me in the face, and I cringe as a particularly painful piece lands itself in my eye.

_He wants a race, does he? _I wipe off the dirty snow before gripping hard on my own horse's reigns. _Then it is a race he shall get! _

"Noro lim!" I cry to Gwestiel. She rears up before surging forward powerfully. Her strong legs propel us forward at breakneck speeds, and in a matter of seconds she is running side by side with Legolas's horse, Karis. The white stallion lets out a startled whinny, and the elf atop him looks over at me with a surprised expression.

"What's the matter, Legolas? Don't like getting beaten by a girl?" Gwestiel snorts loudly before making another lunge forward, bounding several feet ahead of Karis.

I am careful to steer her along the cobble stone pathway set before us, praying silently that this is the one Legolas said would lead us to the river. The mare leaps over a large tree root, her long legs making it an easy task. Karis, however, appears to struggle more. I can hear his labored breaths behind me before, suddenly, the Prince bark out a command. The horse responds with a neigh and explodes forward, narrowly missing knocking Gwestiel of balance. Legolas shoots me an arrogant look as the horse thunders past. I let out a very unfeminine snort of amusement, thankful that the elf appears to have put last night behind us.

It looks like our friendship might just last, after all.

* * *

><p>By the time Legolas and I reach the riverbank, Gwestiel and I are dank with sweat. The sun is now high in the sky and heats the forest with a rotten-smelling humidity. The very air around us feels bloated with moisture.<p>

"Nice weather, you have here," I gasp out. Legolas glances over at me and smirks. His forehead is bare of any signs of perspiration. I hate him for it.

"The river is up ahead," he says calmly, gesturing to the tree line. "It should be cooler near the bank." I decide to take his word for it and nudge Gwestiel forward.

"Don't worry," I tell her soothingly. "You'll get a break soon." Hot air puffs out of her nostrils, and the mare shakes her mane.

Within seconds, my ears pick up the loud sound of rushing water. The horses hear it, too, and Gwestiel sets out at a brisker pace. Her head is held high with newfound energy. Karis snorts and canters after her. There in an enormous gap in the tree line in front of us, revealing the river surging in the channel beneath it. White foam laps at the rocky water's edges, and the waves hiss as they crash against the stone. The very sound of it makes my tongue feel like sandpaper, and I squeeze the mare's sides to quicken her pace. Gwestiel's hooves make a clip-clop noise against the hard stone as we emerge at the bank. I release her reigns before sliding from the saddle. Legolas does the same as Karis strides up beside me. The two horses nudge each other in greeting before trotting down to the river to refresh themselves. I follow after them and, kneeling down onto the rock, reach down and scoop up handfuls of water. I down several large swigs before splashing the cold liquid onto my face and neck. I acknowledge the soft footfalls of my elven companion as he squats down next to me, surveying the forest surrounding us. I regard his presence with a curious glance.

"Aren't you going to drink?" I ask, running my damp fingers through my hair. Legolas makes no reply but instead reaches down to wash his hands.

Almost as soon as his fingertips touch the water, the silence of morning is shattered by a bloodcurdling scream coming from somewhere behind us. I feel Legolas's body tense, and the elf and I exchange a look of horror before unsheathing our blades. The horses nicker anxiously.

"What was that?" I ask the Prince, careful not to raise my voice above a whisper. Legolas does not respond both instead grips tightly onto the hilts of his twin blades. His knuckles are pale with strain.

"Keira," he says sharply. "Go now; you are not safe here. Something draws near; something that should not have taken residence here."

"No," I reply, "I will not."

"Do as I say."

"I am _not _leaving you!"

The Prince recoils at the ferocity of my tone, his posture coiled like a snake about to strike. My eyes bore into him with dangerous intensity.

"Every time I've gone, you have nearly gotten yourself killed. I'm going to make sure that doesn't happen again." Another scream, this time much closer. My sword glints dangerously in the sunlight, the dried remains of Warg blood still caked onto its hilt.

"I do not want any harm to come to you, Keira."

"Worry about yourself," I reply spitefully. "I am none of your concern."

"So you would like to believe."

I watch the elf for a moment before giving a low whistle to Gwestiel. The mare swings her head towards me before cantering over. I rise slowly up from my crouch before stepping forward and mounting the animal, careful not to cut her with my sword. After I have seated myself on the saddle, I look down at Legolas. The elf makes no move to summon his own horse. Instead, a low hissing loud ensues as the Prince sheathes his two knives and pulls out his even more deadly longbow.

"My aim is more accurate if I am standing," he assures me. I don't bother with an argument and, gripping the reigns in my free hard, turn Gwestiel around to face whatever lies ahead.

What that something is, however, is nothing I could have expected.

A deep and guttural howl sounds from the tree line ahead just as five enormous wolves burst out from the foliage. Their pelts are as white as snow, the soft hue hardly matching the fiery red color of their eyes. One wolf, the largest of the pack, bares an ugly looking scar that splits across its muzzle. Its lips raise in a snarl as soon as it sights me

"Were-rider," it booms, crimson eyes glaring, "our master summons you. Come with us now, and no harm will come to you or your friend."

Not a moment later, Legolas has strung an arrow and aimed it towards the great beast.

"Make one move towards her, and you die."

"You think you can challenge _me, _Elf?" The white wolf grins. "That is very unwise." Its pack members howl in unison, their voices joining into a chorus of malice. Gwestiel shifts uneasily beneath me.

"Why are you here?" barks out Legolas. "And what do want with the girl?"

"She is not who she seems, little Prince. Beware the powers of the Were-rider, for none but the Master dare cross her."

_What did he just call me?_

"Were-rider?" the elf echoes. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"Nor are there many who have," says the wolf. "But here you are, standing in the very presence of one..." Legolas keeps his eyes trained on the animal before glancing upwards at me.

"Do you know of what it speaks, Keira?"

"N-no," I stammer, fumbling for words. Why do these wolves want _me _to come with them? And who is this 'Master' they speak of?

Suddenly, the white wolf yowls a sharp command, and three of the beasts lunge for Legolas. The elf fells one of them almost instantly, as the arrow tip finds its mark in the creature's head, but the other two are not daunted. One of the wolves attempts to swipe the Prince's legs out from underneath him, but Legolas dodges nimbly before unsheathing one of his blades and hurling it at the creature. The wolf yowls in pain as the knife lodges itself in its throat. I take the opportunity to spur Gwestiel forward and slice through the animal's neck with my sword. It falls to the ground in a writhing, twitching mess.

"Go, Keira!" shouts Legolas as yet another wolf lunges for him. This time, however, the Prince is too preoccupied to fend off the attack. I watch in horror as the creature bowls him over and slashes at his chest armor. Its claws open up bloody wounds on the elf's torso.

"No!" I howl, and Gwestiel launces herself at the wolf.

I don't notice the second creature crouched down beside us until it is too late.

The fifth wolf, concealed by the horse's shadow, lets out a howl of fury before leaping up and sinking its fangs into my shoulder. A scream of agony escapes my lips as the beast's teeth delve deeper and deeper into the muscle before wrenching me from the saddle. My body tumbles through the air before slamming into the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of me. The jagged rocks hardly serve as a cushion for my fall, and a sickening crunch emanates from my ribcage. Red hot pain stabs into me, and with it comes more screaming. A sticky mixture of blood and bile spews from my mouth as all feeling in my spine goes numb.

For an agonizing few moments I lay helpless on the ground, watching through terrified eyes as the white beast stalks up to me. Gwestiel attempts to kick at it, then squeals with fright as the wolf snaps at her legs.

"No… Gwestiel!" I manage to choke out. "Go!" The horse dances in place, unsure of what to do. "I said _go!_" With a neigh of sorrow, the grey mare rears up before bolting into the forest.

Head spinning, I look over to see Legolas locked in a tense struggle with yet another wolf. Its front paws slash at his throat while the elf's blade cuts at its muzzle.

"Were-rider!"

The deep snarl alerts me enough that I am able to look at its source. The scar-faced wolf stands in front of me, a fresh cut on its jaw trickling with blood. "Surrender yourself, or face the Master's fury."

"Then take me dead," I gurgle.

The animal's ears lay flat in agitation. It then begins to circle me, slowly but surely making its way towards my vulnerable throat. Jaws wide, fangs gleaming, prepared to strike.

The beast is stunted before it can deliver the killing blow.

An enormous roar sounds from somewhere to my left, and I look up just in time to see a great black blur leap overhead of me. It collides with the wolf, knocking the beast to the ground and sending it scrambling back several steps. There is a moment of silence as the mysterious being disappears into the shadows of the forest before emerging once more. Ebony claws slash at the white wolf, splattering the ground with blood. Somewhere in the distance I hear Legolas call my name. Having landed a fatal stab to his attacker, the elf takes the opportunity to let an arrow, piercing the heart of one of the beasts.

No sooner has that creature fallen than the ground is littered with four white corpses. The last wolf, however, is not dead yet. It remains crouched down beside a bush, teeth glimmering with a steely grey light.

"Coward!" it bellows. "Betrayer! Show yourself, beast of shadow, and let us even the odds!"

The dark being remains hidden for another few seconds before emerging from the cover of the forest. The black stars dancing over my eyes make it nigh impossible to make out its identity, and not even my keen ears can pick up on the fact that I know the voice with which it speaks.

"The odds need not be evened for filth like you."

"We are of the same kind!"

"No," growls the black creature, "we are not." And with that it lunges forward and buries its fangs into the white wolf's neck. The monster screeches in agony, but its suffering is short lived as its opponent's strong teeth snap through its spinal cord. With an enormous tug, the animal's head is wrenched from its shoulders. The dark monster then tosses the limp carcass aside before turning to look at me. Two golden eyes gaze into my own. So foreign, yet so familiar. I blink sleepily as the forest around me begins to careen out of control.

"Keira!"

It is the Prince calling to me, but I don't register it. All I see is the creature standing in front of me; the look of sorrow on its face as it steps forward before gently taking my limp body in its jaws. My head lolls to the side as blood trickles from my mouth. The pain in my back is mild compared to the sense of emptiness I feel. Like I was never alive in the first place. I close my eyes and embrace the black void stretching out before me. Whatever it offers is better than what lies ahead of me in this life.

"Lie still," says a rumbling voice.

Then, with a powerful whoosh, everything fades away into darkness.

The last thing I remember is seeing Legolas chasing after me. I remember watching him stumbling. Falling. Collapsing to the ground as he clutched at the wounds decorating his body. He was wounded, too weak to pursue me. He cried out in anguish as I was taken away beyond his reach.

I remember the blood seeping out from the bodies of the dead wolves, how it bathed the ground in a sea of murky red. It stained the Prince's hands as he dug his fingers into the ground.

I remember seeing sunlight reflect off of a single teardrop rolling down his cheek. A tear that signified that he knew. He knew that I was gone. That there was no way of stopping the thing that holds me in its clutches. My captor is not intent on letting me go.

_I am dying._

_I am dying._

_I want to die, to rid myself of this pain._

_But it will not let me go. _

_He will not let me go._

Carca_ will not let me go._

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! As always, I'd love it if y'all dropped by some reviews! <strong>

**Happy reading!**

**-PC**


	14. Torn

**Back again! This was a bit of a quicker update for y'all, being I ended on such a horrid cliffhanger last time. Anyways, without further ado, here's Chapter 14!**

* * *

><p>I awake to the feeling of the sun on my face. The air around me is completely silent; so quiet, in fact, that all I can hear is the beating of my own heart. It throbs in my fingertips and pounds in my ears. Constant, rhythmic. Never to be stayed again.<p>

A low moan sounds from my lips as I roll over onto my side. Much to my surprise, the movement does not pain me. Hope flutters to life inside my chest, and I stretch my arms out before me, willing my stiff shoulders to move once more. I am in that process when I feel my fingers skirt across something that feels like cloth. The fabric is soft, unlike the hard stone on which I lay.

Frowning, I open my eyes into slits. They blink rapidly into focus before taking in a familiar form lying next to me. Legolas. _What is he doing here?_

I manage to prop myself up on my elbows before dragging my body over to him.

"Legolas?" I croak. The elf does not stir. Worried, I lean forward and brush away stands of unruly blond hair to reveal his face. It is a sickly green color, and there are beads of sweat on his forehead. My weary eyes travel downwards until they are resting upon the shreds of clothing lining his torso. Blood has managed to soak its way through them until the original color of the fabric has almost vanished entirely. The skin visible beneath the fabric has been peeled away by the white wolf's claws. A lump forms in my throat as I remember the creature bowling him over and tearing at his body. The crimson stains on the riverbank.

Fighting back tears, I inch forward a bit more until I am pressed up against him. His skin is ice cold; no doubt the frosty morning air is to blame.

_How did he get here? How did _we _get here?_

In an attempt to keep him warm, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull his limp form into my own. His body sags against my chest, and a swallow groan comes from his mouth.

"Shh," I sooth, resisting the sobs that threaten to overtake me. It wounds me to see Legolas like this. So weak, so sick, and in so much pain. My fingers run through his hair absentmindedly, and I press my cheek into the side of his head. That seems to help settle the tremors running through his body.

"Stay with me, Legolas," I whisper, looking out to the land beyond the cave in which we lay. "Stay with me. I'll get you out of here."

"Attempting escape will do nothing but injure the both of you further. Unless, of course, you are wanting to fall off the cliff."

In the blink of an eye I am on my feet, sword held ready in my hand. The blade glints ferociously as I turn around to face whatever spoke to me. I squint in order to see through the darkness before taking in a large black form standing several feet in front of me. The shape is masked by the shadows of the cave, but there is no mistaking the golden eyes that stare back at me.

"Carca," I growl, wincing as my chest aches in protest. "This is your doing. Where are we, and why have you brought us here?"

"My doing?" he scoffs. "So this is how you repay me for saving your and the elf's lives? By blaming your injuries on me?" Carca shakes his head before taking a step forward. Fury sparks within me, and I lunge at the wolf and thrust my sword against his throat.

"Make one move towards him and you die."

"Is that so?" The wolf's eyes glint curiously as he looks down at the blade. "Well then, I best not get ahead of myself."

"Answer my question!"

"Alright, if you insist. We are near the base of the Misty Mountains, in an outcropping of rock that I have learned to call my home."

"The Misty Mountains?" I gasp. "That is many leagues from Mirkwood. Surely we cannot have gotten that far on foot!"

"You are correct."

My brow knits together in confusion, and I lower the elven blade before sliding it back into the scabbard. Carca means me no threat; if he did, the Prince and I would already be dead. He also saved me from being killed by the white wolves; best not antagonize the one to whom I owe my life.

"Well if not on foot, how then?"

"There is much you don't know about me," he says simply. "It would do you good to save such questions until your wounds have had time to heal."

"My wounds are not of your concern," I bite back.

The wolf's lips raise in an irritated snarl before, suddenly, two large objects unfold from his sides. My mouth drops open in shock. Silhouetted in the morning sun is a pair of midnight blue wings, nearly twenty feet in length. Their feathered tips, sparsely flecked with gold, brush against the cliff walls with an audible scuffling sound.

"Valar forbid," I say through numb lips. "Carca, those are…you have …"

"Wings? Yes, I am quite aware." Carca folds them into his body once more, where they seem to disappear entirely. I blink with shock. "A powerful magic lies over them," he continues, "giving me the ability to conceal them if I so wish."

"What _are _you, Carca?"

"I dare not say."

"And why is that?" I retort sharply.

"For your own good, I suggest that you do not anger me."

"Anger you? Oh no, I would never dream of _that_."

"_Silence!"_

Carca's sudden outburst startles me, and I bite down on my tongue. His yellow eyes flame with menace, and the wolf's entire being seems to swell with rage. The sunlight glistens off the barbed claws lining the tops of his wings. My palms grow moist from anxiety.

"I saved your life, you ungrateful rat!" The creature bristles angrily before looking out at the horizon. "Perhaps next time I will let the White Wolves finish you off. Both you and the elf prince." My muscles tense at the mention of Legolas.

"Don't you dare drag him into this."

"Why not? Are you going to try to stop me, Keira? My, my, now wouldn't that be a sight?" Carca begins to stalk towards me. "Do you think you have what it takes to defeat me, little girl? Did your daddy teach you well?"

My hand travels to the scabbard at my side, and I drum my fingers loudly on the hilt of the sword. The wolf's eyes narrow into menacing golden slits. His lips rise up, revealing massive white fangs underneath. Dull red stains adorn their tips.

"Enough!"

The powerful voice startles me, and I unsheathe my blade before extending it out from my body, ready to defend myself against whatever lurks in the darkness. My hands are slippery with sweat, and I try to ignore the voice inside of my head that nags about how very vulnerable I am. The thing that spoke has the advantage of being hidden, whereas I am standing in plain sight.

"Who's there?" I call, struggling to make my voice sound more imposing. A deep scrapping sound resonates from within the walls of the cavern. It reminds me vaguely of the sound I heard when I first met Carca, back in the forges at Rivendell. Like claws scratching against rock.

"I am of no concern to you," says the voice. It has a higher pitch to it; feminine, but unfamiliar. "Tell me, girl, what is your name?"

"Reveal yourself, and then I will be more willing to cooperate."

The creature chuckles just as two blue eyes suddenly appear out of the gloomy black. Bold and penetrating, they bore into me like a lion does its prey. There is an ancient gleam in their depths that makes me think twice about just who exactly I am dealing with. That this mysterious someone might be a some_thing._

"Smart one, aren't you? I do not lie when I say that I have looked forward to our meeting for many moons." The eyes flicker past me for a moment before returning to meet my gaze. "Your friend fairs poorly, does he not?"

"The white wolves that attacked us wounded him worse than I." My eyes narrow distrustfully. "I know not what those foul creatures were called, or where they came from, but know this. If you are one of them, than I will cause just as much pain upon you as you gave to him."

"Smart _and _brave!" the voice exclaims. "Well, well; perhaps you are indeed the one we have been looking for all these years."

My brow knits together in a frown.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Not yet." The creature's icy eyes blink knowingly as its form steps out into the morning light, revealing an enormous silver wolf with fur that glistens as if made of diamonds. Held ready at its sides are a pair of golden wings, matching the color of Carca's eyes. The creature's face is stern and harbors a distant look that sends shudders down my spine. The front of its neck is raked with three jagged black scars, no doubt from a battle fought long ago. My eyes bug slightly, and the beast laughs.

"What were you expecting, Were-rider?" inquires the wolf. The darker fur around its eyes give it a hollow, ghoulish appearance. "Are you not impressed with what you see? Does this form not live up to your expectations?"

"Your voice," I say, "It is very human-like."

"As it would seem." The creature eyes me warily. "Now that I have been so bold as to reveal myself, it is only fair that you tell me your own name."

"I am Keira, daughter of Byron, son of Borin."

"A sire born of Man, yet I sense that your blood is not entirely of human origin. Who was your mother?"

"An elf from Rivendell. Her name is Faelwen." The wolf cocks its head curiously.

"So," drawls the creature, "You are a half-elf."

"And who might you be?" I ask sharply, lowering my sword.

"Some call me a Beast." The silver wolf begins to prowl around me, its eyes ever watchful of the blade held against my side. "Some call me a Demon. But where I come from, I was known as Celeb."

"You and Carca are of the same kind, are you not?"

"That is true."

"Why did you go about disguising yourselves, then? And why have you brought me…" I gesture to the pale form of Legolas, "…and him, here?"

Celeb's gaze turns down solemnly, and Carca takes a step forward.

"It was my wish that you could live out a peaceful life," the black wolf says, "away from the troubles of the world. I hoped that the Wood-elves would take you in." A shudder runs through his body. "But it cannot be. I tried to protect you, but now I see that the agents of darkness cannot be deterred. Not even in such a fortress as the Palace in Mirkwood."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, heart racing. "What 'agents of darkness'?"

"The creatures that you call White Wolves," Celeb says lowly. "They came looking for you. Their Master senses the power you hold, and he wants to use it."

"Power? What power?"

"Forget everything you were before, Keira. Forget everything that your mother and father said you were, because that is not who you are now." The creature steps up to me until we are at eye level. "You are a Were-rider, and that is why you are here."

"Were-rider?" I cry. There are tears in my eyes, but not tears of sorrow. I am scared now, like a child is scared of the dark. I fear for whatever lies ahead.

"Yes," she replies. I feel Carca's body press against my own, providing warmth from the silver wolf's icy gaze.

"Carca and I are of an ancient race," begins Celeb. "Once, we were known as the Breyta. Guardians, warriors, protectors of the peace. We took it upon ourselves to rid this land of evil, as do all the servants of the light. We were born and raised to fight the darkness that threatens to pollute our lands." Celeb angles her muzzle towards the black wolf. "I presume that you have already met your own guardian?"

"I have," I say, looking over at him. "But how can you be my protector?"

Carca blinks knowingly, golden eyes shining.

"I did not tell you earlier for fear of ruining what could quite possibly be a very ordinary life for you."

"Then why did the Elves capture you?"

"They mistook me for a more common Black Wolf, a title that I was given in order to preserve my original identity."

"The first Were-riders were common folk," Celeb interjects, "chosen based upon their traits and gifts to fulfill a purpose beyond all our comprehension. When Sauron first came into being, the Valar issued a proclamation . Five people of the lineage of man would be selected to take a stand against the amassing forces of darkness. Each were given a prophecy, one that stated the urgent need for retaliation against the coming evil. But the dark lord could not be felled by the strength of arms alone, you see, so the Valar brought to life an ancient race of beings known as the Breyta.

"With the bodies of wolves and wings of eagles, the Breyta proved to be a formidable foe against Sauron and his army. The riders, known as the Chosen Ones, were each granted a single companion, a creature chosen from among the Breyta that would act as both their protector and their friend. Thus the two forces were able to join arms during the Battle of Dagorlad. With the combination of the powers, the evil was vanquished." The wolf's eyes glaze over as she continues. "But not without great cost."

There is a moment of silence as I gape at the creature's words.

"Do you mean to say that you were there during the battle?"

"I was," she replies, "My rider was called Thalida. She was an elf hailing from the woods of Lorien, and I was her protector.

"But how?" I cry. "How can that be? You said yourself that the Chosen Ones were of human lineage, not of elvenkind. "

"Not all," she says softly. "There were some who the Valar chose from among the elves, though it was not stated in their decree.

"It all began when the Chosen ones and their companions first revealed themselves to the Orc armies, back in the first age. The foul beasts were stunned at first, virtually helpless as the Breyta rained down upon them. The Battle of Dagorlad was a bloody occasion. Steely fangs and flashing blades hacked apart at the masses of orc troops, decorating the ground with dismembered corpses. Though we numbered fewer, the combination of the Breyta and our riders were a force to be reckoned with. The resisting armies of men and elves were given hope by our arrival. They fought bitterly against the orcs and, after many long and grueling hours of battle, managed to drive the foul creatures back.

"To them, victory was close at hand. The Breyta knew, however, that the battle would not be won so easily. We shouted to the armies, our riders ordered them to reform ranks, but we were too late. The true enemy had arrived, and he was not about to let our miniscule armies defeat him." A single tear trickles out form the corner of Celeb's eye. Fat and glistening, it rolls lazily down her muzzle before tripping silently onto the floor. "The first Breyta to fall was named Faroth. Her rider was a man referred to as Lief. A brave fellow, he was, though my kin and I liked to say that he was a bit reckless at times." The wolf shakes her head solemnly. "Leif dropped out of formation to make the first move. Faroth was against it; of course she would be. After all, my kin are very keen with the knowledge of battle.

"But Leif's ambition could not be stopped. He ordered Faroth to dive towards the dark lord, but Sauron's power was too great for even them to combat. He snatched the Breyta out of the air as if she weighed no more than a fly. Lief fell from her back during the process and was vulnerable on the ground. The injuries he acquired during his fall were very severe, and the orcs were quick to overcome him.

"Perhaps it is better that he died then, if only to be spared from the sight of his beloved Protector being torn limb from limb. The rest of us, however, were forced to watch as the dark lord cleaved off Faroth's wings with one swipe of his sword. We heard her screams as Sauron battered her with his mace again and again until nothing remained but a pile of bloodied flesh and fur."

"Celeb," I whisper, bowing my head, "Forgive me. I did not mean to cause you pain."

"No indeed," she rumbles. "It is a shame to bring this burden upon you, Keira of Brunsfarrow. My heart weeps at the thought of sending you into such a battle, though I know it must be done."

_Why does she care so much about me? It's not like I've ever done anything for her._

"Why must it?"

"There is a prophecy," states Carca. "It foretells the dawn of a second generation of riders, more powerful than the ones before them. But it is said that there will be only one that is strong enough to amass the forces of both the Breyta and the Chosen Ones. A new age is upon us, Keira, and the Valar have commanded that you are the one that must unite the races once more. You are the Were-rider."

"I am far too much of a simpleton to be given such a title," I insist. "Surely I do not have what it takes to become what you ask of me! After all, wasn't Sauron vanquished long ago?"

"No," says Celeb gravely. "No, he was not. His life force is bound to the One Ring, and my heart tells me that he is not so far from acquiring it again." Celeb's eyes glimmer with an unreadable emotion. "His dark soul haunts the lands of Mordor, and there it reside in the one form that he is strong enough to take."

"And what form would that be?"

"A flaming eye, all-seeing and all-knowing. It sits atop a great black tower, near the slopes of Mount Doom. As Sauron has not yet regained his full strength, the Eye has not yet become aware of our presence." Celeb growls deeply. "But his evil has become strong enough to give life to the Lypta."

Chills of dread begin to creep their way into my fingertips.

"What things do you speak of?"

"The only force on this earth that were created solely for hunting down and killing the Breyta.

"Several years past, Sauron became aware of the Valar's future plans for us and grew fearful of the power we could obtain if allowed to live on. Out of his fear came the race of beings known as the Lypta. Shape-shifting beasts with eyes that shone as red as flame, they seeped from the land of Mordor like blood from a festering wound. The Lypta sought us out like hounds on a scent; for months upon end they searched until, at last, they made their first kill. A young Breyta who had been foolish enough to venture out into the forest without rider to guide her.

"We have since become on endangered race. Over the ages the Lypta have killed hundreds of us, leaving only a dozen left."

"Was it the Lypta that attacked us on the banks of the river?"

"Yes," replies Carca. "They have been scouring the forests of Mirkwood for some time now, looking for the one we call Were-rider. If I had not caught them by surprise, there would be no knowing what further damage they could have inflicted upon us."

_No wonder the Orcs aren't there anymore._

"One of the Lypta spoke, It said that you were of the same kind."

"Lies!" Celeb snaps. "The Breyta are a pure race; we are nothing like those foul creatures that fester in that rotten land called Mordor. He was merely attempting to convert Carca to the forces of evil."

"And I assume he will again, if we are to meet him."

"What do you mean? That beast was killed, I saw it with my own eyes!"

"For a time he will remain that way, but the Lypta are not so easily deterred. They have a nasty habit of regenerating into new forms after their old ones are felled."

My lips move to speak, but no words come out.

"I know what you are thinking," Celeb says quickly, "but hear me now. If you do not rally together the riders and Breyta, the Lypta will most certainly finish them off. It will not be an easy task, as my kin in particular are very good at keeping to the shadows, but Carca will do his best to help you." The Breyta smiles sorrowfully. "The great battle of our time has yet to come. The Were-rider is of need."

"But Celeb, I cannot!"

"Try telling that to the Valar!" she snaps fiercely. "For three hundred years I have hidden within the walls of this cave, praying that I might get to live out the rest of my life in peace. Willing the Valar to change their minds about the prophecy. But I see it cannot be. Your time has come to make a change in the fortunes of the world; all you have to do is be brave enough to accept the task bestowed upon you." Carca cranes his neck to look at me. Wondering how I will take the news.  
>"Celeb," I say softly, "I have not known you long, but what you ask of me is impossible. I could not dream of taking up such a responsibility."<p>

"You must, Keira. There is no choice."

"No choice?" My blood boils with rage as I rise up onto my feet, ignoring the painful protests of my aching limbs. "You are wrong. There is always a choice." I shoot her a scathing look before striding over to Carca. "Take the Prince and I back to Mirkwood," I demand.

"The Lypta will find you there," he growls.

"Legolas will die if he does not find treatment there!"

"You care for him?" inquires Celeb, her ears perking. I set my jaw stubbornly.

"Yes, I do."

"Very well." The silver creature steps around me before striding over to the Prince. "I will make you a bargain. If you agree to accept your fate as the Were-rider, than I will let you save your friend." Celeb bends down over his face and sniffs him. "If you don't, then I will have no choice than to put him out of his misery." Terror courses through me as enormous black claws emerge from Celeb's front paws. Their needle-point tips shine hungrily, and my stomach twists as I imagine them slitting across the elf's throat.

All it takes is one look at the Prince to know what that decision is. A life for a life, a soul for a soul. If I save Legolas, then I am selling myself to an entirety of being Were-rider. I will forever be a slave to the Valar's will, whatever that may be. The remaining years of my life will be spent searching for the lost members of the Chosen Ones and their Breyta. Carca's life, too. I am condemning him along with myself.

But I am not going to let Legolas die, and I will do whatever it takes to insure that he is healed.

"I will do it," I say, my voice shaky, "now let me take him back to the Wood-elves. They will know how to heal him."

Celeb bows her head in agreement before turning to Carca. "Leave now, and be back in three days' time. Do not linger, or the Lypta will surely seek you out. I will be awaiting you here when you return." After that, the Breyta says no more. I watch as she extends her wings before swooping silently out of the cavern.

"Keira, we have not much time. Let us return the Prince now instead of later."

_Like I need someone else to tell me that._

My mouth turns down wryly as I cast one last look at Celeb's form growing smaller in the distance. After a moment of silence, I feel my gaze drift over to the black wolf.

"Lead on, Carca."

* * *

><p>I did not know that a person could feel so cold. It is as if Legolas has been carved out of ice, his pale features nothing but frost. He has not moved since Carca and I began our flight to Mirkwood. Nothing but the occasional moan sounds from the elf's lips, moving me to clutch him tighter to me.<p>

My stomach is in knots as the black wolf soars over the valley of the Brown Plains. As heights have never been pleasant for me, flying so high above the ground is enough to make me nauseous with fear. I find myself closing my eyes and concentrating on the sound of my own breathing. Though I dare not look down at them, the golden glory of the land I call my home must now be masked under the cover of twilight. Even up here, I can hear the sound of rustling grass calling me. Willing me to come back home.

But I cannot. I am the Were-rider now, having bound myself to the title in order to save the Prince's life. This is my new fate.

"Keira," says Carca suddenly, "you do realize that once you take the elf to his kin, you will never be able to see him again. Returning to Mirkwood more than once, now that you have become the Were-rider, would be a fool's errand."

"Yes," I reply. Legolas's body is currently leaning back against mine, with my arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Carca has managed to keep with a stable flight, but one sharp wind gust could be enough to knock the unconscious elf off.

"There are some… restrictions that come with being a rider, one of them being that you must never reveal your true identity. And only under extreme secrecy will you be allowed to converse with common folk." The wolf turns his head in order to look me in the eye. "And you must never be allowed to love."

"Go kiss an orc."

The Breyta growls in irritation.

"Let it be known that your fate is not entirely mine to decide. It is by the good grace of the Valar alone that you are still walking on the earth."

"Are you saying that it was the Valar who saved me from the Lypta?"

"It was the Valar who healed your wounds," he says. "Without their protection, you would not be alive."

"Sure, Carca. Keep telling yourself that."

* * *

><p>Several long, cold hours pass by before the outline of the Palace is visible on the horizon. By now Carca has resorted to running instead of flying, claiming that he would not be able to land properly without alerting the elves of his presence.<p>

"How much longer?" I shout over the wind, frowning as Legolas lets out yet another moan. His forehead is dank with sweat, and despite my best efforts to make him comfortable, it seems that the fever is not keen on leaving any time soon.

"Only another mile until we reach the Palace gates," he replies. "How fares the elf?"

"Not well." I rest my chin on the top of the Prince's head and feel a lump form in my throat. What if we are too late? What if Legolas is too far gone to be saved?

"Hear me, Legolas," I whisper, so softly that not even Carca can hear. "You're strong; you can fight this." The elf is still as death and I feel another spasm rock his body. Eyes squeezed shut, I take a deep breath and do something that I have not done for fifteen years.

I sing.

_"Ú i vethed nâ i onnad._  
><em>Si boe ú-dhanna.<em>  
><em>Ae ú-esteli, esteliach nad.<em>  
><em>Estelio han, estelio han,<em>  
><em>estelio han, estelio veleth.<em>  
><em>Esteliach nad, estelio han."<em>

It is a simple verse, really, but I have always held it very dear to me. I heard it sung once, while I was travelling along the borders of Lorien. The Elves' Serenade, I liked to call it. My knowledge of the Elvish language is fair enough, but it took me a number of years to distinguish the true meaning behind the song's words. Even now I am not entirely sure what it means.

As soon as I finish, I feel Legolas stir. He shifts slightly before, surprisingly, his eyes flutter open. Pale blue and infinite, they gaze up at me as if looking upon a dream.

"Lothiriel?" he mumbles sleepily. Almost immediately, I feel tears spring into my eyes.

"Yes," I lie, "yes, it is me. Sleep now, Legolas. Save your strength."

Carca comes to a jolting halt beneath me, and I look up to see the Palace towering up before us. We have arrived. I manage to haul the Prince's limp form off of the wolf's back before ushering Carca back into the forest.

"They don't need to see you," I assure him, and he nods to me before disappearing into the night. I pull one of Legolas's arms over my shoulders and proceed to stumble towards the bridge stretching out before me. There are five elven guards stationed outside the gates. They are gathered together in a circle and appear to be discussing something when I call out for help. All heads swivel in my direction before I hear a familiar voice shout of, "The Prince!"

_Taluharn, _I think, sighing with relief as the elves begin to run towards us.

"He's injured," I gasp out as soon as they arrive. Taluharn does a double take at me as the guards rush forward to take hold of Legolas.

"How?" he says slowly.

"How is not important. Hurry with him, he is badly wounded." The elf shoots me a frantic look before turning to one of the guards.

"Send for a cot," he instructs sharply, and the elf bows before bustling off towards the gates.

"Lothiriel, you came."

The voice is Legolas's. He is fading now. I can see it in his eyes as he looks over at me. The light that shone brightly moments earlier has now begun to dim. I wonder what it must be like for him, thinking that his beloved has come back from the dead. His features, once tight with pain, have softened slightly. Perhaps it is like living in a world that does not exist.

Upon hearing him speak, the elves gently lower him onto the ground, covering him with cloaks.

"Sleep," I breathe, kneeling down next to him and kissing his forehead. Tears drip down from my lashes as I do so, because unlike Legolas, I know that this will be the last time we meet. This is goodbye. I take his hand in mine, willing myself to never let go, but I know I must. I am loyal to the Breyta, now. "I'll see you soon, Prince."

More lies. They spill freely like venom from my tongue. I am a serpent, conniving and cruel, making Legolas think that I am someone that I am not.

But he will know. Surely he must know later on that it was all for him, and not for me.

The elf's next words are spoken so softly that I doubt that the others of his kin even register them. But I do. And as his fingers slip free of mine, when the other elves arrive and hoist him onto the cloth stretched, I replay them over and over in my mind.

"Must you go so soon?"

They ring still in my ears as the patrol ferries him across the bridge and through the gates of the Palace. Taluharn looks over his shoulder and raises a hand to me; a wordless farewell and, at the same time, a thank you. I return the gesture and attempt a smile. The elf's lips turn down in knowing before he, too, vanishes into the open gates. I bite my lip to stem the tears that dribble out from the corners of my eyes before trudging back into the forest. My legs are numb with cold, and I do not make it more than a step or two before I collapse onto my knees. My shoulders heave with sobs as I hear shouting coming from inside the Palace walls. Unintelligible gibberish, at first, but then clearer and more defined. A name, a single name is all it calls.

"Lothiriel! Lothiriel!"

I dig my fingers into my hair as the elven gates swing shut with a low hiss. What have I done? Why did I pretend?

"Lothiriel, melleth nin, come back!"

_She can't, Legolas. Your love can never return. Nor can I, your deceiver. I am lost as well._

My hands, clenched into fists, fall to the ground with a dull thump. My fingernails dig into them, boring bloody crescents into my skin. This is how I chose to farewell him? Buy making him hurt even more? I am a monster. An evil thing. How can the Breyta expect me to combat darkness when all I do is toy with its powers?

"_Keira!"_

The walls I put up to try to compose myself come down all at once when I hear the Prince's voice call my name. He knows! Valar forbid, he actually knows!

"I'm sorry, Legolas!" I scream, knowing full well that he cannot hear me. None of them can. There is too much shouting, like there is some sort of struggle going on. "I'm so, so sorry." Something presses up against my shoulder. Carca. His warmth shields me from the biting winter winds. Eyes burning with tears, I let out a wail of sorrow before flinging my arms around the Breyta's neck.

"How can I do this, Carca? How can I leave him in such a state?"

"Legolas will continue to live just as you and I," says the wolf. "He will understand your reasons… in time."

My tears soak into Carca's black fur, and I sniffle before pulling away from him.

"Do you think so?" I ask, my bottom lip wobbling like an infant's.

"I do."

We remain that way for a brief moment, sitting side by side, before I manage to get to my feet. Carca follows suits and shakes himself, giving me time to turn back and look at the Palace. My eyes flicker over the cobblestone bridge, then down to the river foaming beneath it. They take in the grey pillars towering up before the twin gates, how their polished surfaces shine in the moonlight.

I'm saying goodbye to the place I love—to the people I love.

"Come, Carca," I say, swinging a stiff leg over his back. "Let us be free of this place. It holds nothing but sorrow for me now."

"Indeed."

His wings give a powerful whoosh as they propel us into the air. There are no longer any elves to see our departure.

The night sky illuminates the massive form of the Palace as it fades away into the distance. Every wing-beat takes us farther away from the tears and sorrow left behind in the mossy forest floor. Moments pass, and already we are miles away from it, but its image is imprinted on my eyelids every time I blink. The trees, the gates, the river. And most of all, the Wood-elves that call it home.

Taluharn.

Caladwen.

Even Thranduil, in all his snide disapproval, winds his way into my thoughts.

But most of all, my heart longs to see the face of the Prince, in person, just once more. To see him healthy and recovered; to know that he will carry on, as Carca said, without the need for my companionship.

_Goodbye, Legolas, _I think, watching as the Woodland Realm fades away into the night. _Goodbye, my friend._

And with that I let him go. But all the while, the lyrics of the song I sang to him hum in the back of my mind. Repeating over and over again until I can think of nothing but them.

_'It's not the end, it is the beginning._  
><em>You mustn't falter now.<em>  
><em>If you don't trust it, trust something.<em>  
><em>Trust this, trust this.<em>  
><em>Trust this, trust love.<em>  
><em>If you trust something, trust this.'<em>

I told him to trust in us. In our friendship. To remember our time together, however short it might have been. And he believed me. I know he did, because that's what friends do. They believe in each other.

And he will always believe in me.

**End of Part One**

* * *

><p><strong>So… kind of an unexpected turn of events, eh? But don't let the 'End of Part One', fool you… I'm planning on there being at least two to three parts in this story. I won't give anything big away about what's going to happen later on, but I will give you a hint; there's a reason this Fanfiction is labeled as LotR and not The Hobbit ;) Get my drift?… or nah? (I'm sorry, I just had too…)<strong>

**Thanks for reading, lovelies! As always, feel free to review!**

**-PC**


	15. Returned

Hello again, dearest readers! Hope you all enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>Part Two<strong>

**New Beginnings**

* * *

><p><strong>Twenty years later<strong>

* * *

><p>The mountain air is crisp with the smells of frost and honeydew. An icy breeze cuts across the landscape, screaming in my ears as I peer down at what lies before me. I stand on the edge of a massive snow-capped cliff, gazing out at the remains of a land once known as the Brown Plains.<p>

Now it is nothing but desolation.

The once thriving countryside has been reduced to an ashen wasteland. What little remains of its abounding golden grass is now completely engulfed in flames. Smoke, black and foul, rises up from the charred barley. Tongues of fire seep closer towards the mountain with every lick of the wind; it will be hours—days, even—before the winter wind manages to snuff it out.

"There will be no intervening."

The voice is deep and raspy, but I know its tone like the back of my hand. After all, it is impossible not to be familiar with the one I have spent all these years traveling with. To not know him would be like not knowing myself.

A low whooshing sound fills my ears, signaling Carca's return from scouring the perimeter. My Breyta companion emerges from the fog, a shadow amongst the clouds, and makes a rather shaky landing onto the outcropping. He shakes a massive amount of snow from himself before striding over me. The orange glow of fire shines brightly in his golden eyes, giving them a mystic look.

"The flames burn strong," I say darkly. "Too strong. It is not natural."

"Very observant of you. I myself happen to agree."

"What is it, then, if not a natural occurrence?"

"Dragon-fire."

Those two words stop me in my tracks, and I look over at him.

"There has not been any dragon roaming about since Smaug, and he was killed many moons ago. Surely you must be mistaken."

"Do not think me wrong, Keira. I have smelt its stench many times before." A flurry of snow swirls past us, ruffling the wolf's dark fur. "There is great evil here, such that cannot be deterred by simple means. The Lypta have returned to the realm of the living."

"You mean to say that they have shifted bodies once more?"

"It would not surprise me," he grumbles. "After we vanquished their Spider entities several months past, they have long since been overdue on returning to their drake form. We must warn the others before their powers can grow any further." I shudder, imagining what horrors the Lypta might accomplish in such a deadly skin.

"As you wish," I say, hoisting myself onto his wide back. Gripping the handle on Carca's leather riding saddle, I flip down the face-guard on my helmet just as the wolf launches off the cliff. His wings catch onto a strong gust of wind, carrying us high up into the heavens, before dropping us back down to earth. Carca spirals into an exhilarating free fall with me plastered firmly against his back. Flashes of red and gold are all I can see of the land beneath as we tumble downwards. Thick smoke billowing up from the ruins of the Plains clogs my nose, and I gag.

Then, just when it looks like the Breyta will smash into the jagged rocks tipping off the Misty Mountains, his wings unfurl with a massive hiss. Air catches beneath them like a sail, and their feathered tips barely scrape the mountain side as Carca levels out into a steady glide. My stomach flutters as we rise up to overlook the fiery lands. Even after years of tireless flying, old fears do occasionally catch up to me. Heights are but one among many. With every pump of his wings the wolf climbs higher and higher until we have vanished within the grey clouds. Thunder rumbles all around me, and I can't help wonder how good the odds are of lightning striking us.

"It will be at least another two days until we reach the other riders," I shout over the wind, my voice muffled further by the helmet. My eyes sting as icy droplets of rain stab into them. "Where shall we find rest for the night?"

"There is no place safe enough for at least another fifty miles." The black wolf swerves sharply, narrowly missing clipping his wing on a cliff side. "We will have to brave the weather until dawn. Try to rest, if you can. You will need your strength. The road ahead is a long one."

I groan before flattening myself out on the Breyta's back. His thick fur provides warmth against the bitter cold surrounding me, and I wrap my arms around his neck to conserve what little heat I have left.

"Fly hard," I whisper to him. Carca hums with pleasure as I stroke his muzzle.

"And fly I shall."

* * *

><p>By the time I awaken, dawn has broken over the horizon, my entire body is numb with cold. A great woodland stretches out beneath us; the Troll Shaws, they are called. I have heard tales of great and lumbering mountain trolls that take residence within the woods. Though I have never seen such a beast, the stories were enough to give me the good sense that I do not want to.<p>

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as my ears pick up on the sound of clashing metal. Shouts resonate from the forest, and I sit up with a frown.

"What is that?"

"A skirmish on the border," Carca replies. "The Orcs have been trying to invade the woods for some time now, but the townspeople resist. It will be many moons still before the foul beasts can gather enough troops to stand a chance against them."

"Indeed," I say, grimacing as a beastly scream cuts through the air. "How far are we from finding sanctuary?"

"Not long. Perhaps another few miles. The evil of the Lypta has long since been left behind, but it is not their power that worries me." Carca sighs heavily. "Something else has been tracking us," he says, eyeing the land below. "I heard its voice calling whilst you slept. It speaks in a garbled form of Black Speech."

"The tongue of the Orcs, you mean?"

"Aye, though this creature is no orc."

My fingertips prickle with unease. And here I thought we were out of danger!

"Where is it now?" I inquire. "The creature you speak of?"

"I do not know. Since we have left the Misty Mountains, the beast seems to have become very elusive."

"How strange."

The Breyta looks up at me, observing my reaction. "Do not let yourself be troubled. It is most likely nothing more than a wild Warg."

"Wargs don't speak, Carca."

Golden eyes, deeper than the Sea of Belegaer, gaze up at me intensely.

"Do they not?"

His curt reply silences me for the remainder of the flight.

* * *

><p>"You are a utinu en lokirim, Carca, if you call this a pleasurable place to stay for the night."<p>

The Breyta perks his ears at my comment as he pads around the mossy clearing.

"Was that an elvish phrase I heard?"

"Yes," I snap, "yes, it was."

"I did not know that your vocabulary was so extensive."

"I'm half-elven. What else would you expect?"

"Peace!" grumbles the wolf. "This is the only acceptable—and safe—place available. Be grateful that it isn't the spider tunnels." I shudder, recalling a memory in which Carca and I were pinned down by a pack of Lypta and were forced to take cover in the dank, reeking home of a giant trap-door spider. Not a pleasant experience.

"Fine, you win. Should I get a fire going? The hour grows late." I angle my chin up at the heavens, watching as the setting sun bleeds out into brilliant shades of fuchsia and crimson.

"I would not recommend it. We may have evaded the Lypta thus far, but Sauron's hounds are devilishly clever. It will not take long for them to catch onto our scent, and just look at what happened to the Brown Plains."

"Are you suggesting that the Lypta will burn us to soot if they happen to stumble across us?"

"Far worse than that." My companion, having found a relatively dry patch of moss, scratches at the ground for a moment before curling up into a tight ball. Eyes weary, I slide off my helmet and stagger sleepily over to him. The Breyta raises one of his wings as I curl up against him. He waits until I am completely situated before draping it over me. The feathers provide a warm insulation against the bitter cold of winter, and I sigh as I press my cheek into his shoulder. Carca lifts up his head and tucks his face underneath his own wing. His black muzzle rests on my lap, and I smile as my fingers run across his ears.

_This isn't sure a bad life, _I think, watching as stars begin to appear in the darkening sky. One seems to shine just a little bit brighter than the others. It is the star of Elendiel, at least that is what the Elves call it. A heavenly body most beloved by all members of their kind. It twinkles gently, a small beacon of hope admist the midnight abyss. I sometimes think that Elendiel is like me, the Were-rider. One of a kind. A stand-out from the crowd. Something that little children will read about in fairytales and say, "I wish I could be like Keira Whitam."

But the truth of the matter is that Keira Whitam, whoever she might've been, is not the same girl as the one I am today. I am a woman now; I have aged, though not in appearance—if there is one plus to being a Were-rider, it is that you don't age a day until you are lying on your death bed, and even that might only occur after several thousand years. Several _thousand. _Celeb was the one who broke the whole 'extended age/ partial immortality' news to me. At first I was frightened; what would I be like if I were to live such a long time? And, more importantly, what on earth would I _look _like? A looney old hag? Would my skin be as a raisin's, so stretched and wrinkled and worn that it could hardly be considered a living thing at all? Celeb had assured me otherwise.

"Throughout the years you will look just the same that you do know," she had said, then added grimly, "If you live that long."

By now that 'if' has turned into a 'when', and the silver Breyta that had once held so much life is but a dull husk of what she had been. Carca fears that her long years of life have finally begun to draw to a close. After all, it is the riders that are the immortal ones, not the Breyta. Even the most ancient creatures must fade away eventually,

"The death of her rider several hundred years ago has never quite escaped her," Carca had informed me. "Sorrow and fear have withered her into something old and frail. It frightens me to see Celeb this way."

I don't blame him. Celeb has acted as his foster mother ever since his real one died in a skirmish with the Lypta. The black wolf himself is only a few hundred years old; barely a juvenile by Breyta standards.

His deep voice and steely temper often mask his youth, so it is only in the quiet hours like these that I see what the old Carca must have looked like. His dark fur, matted and clumped in places, looks as smooth as silk. The face that now holds too many scars to count appears unblemished in the dim light. One night, I asked him how he got them. Those ugly wounds. Lypta attack, he told me. He had been young, then, too young to understand the dangers of wandering out, unprotected, at night. His mother had been the one who saved him. The one who threw herself at one of the beasts so that its fangs sunk into her throat and not that of her son.

She didn't survive.

I didn't press him after that, just as he doesn't press me about my father. We both have wounds that cannot be healed, and because of that, we must be careful of what we say to each other.

Sighing with content, I let my eyelids slowly fall as the star of Elendiel glimmers in the twilight sky, bringing light to a world of darkness.

* * *

><p>For the fifth time in a single moon, I dream of him.<p>

He is shrouded in a cloak of silver moonlight. His hands clutch onto the railing before him, pale and flawless. Blue eyes search the land stretching beneath the rooftop on which he stands. Blond hair shifts ever so slightly beneath his hood.

Another figure approaches him, although he does not have the same air about him. His stride is heavy, his footfalls sending echoes deep down into the structure beneath him. Much unlike the light treed of the Elves.

"The stars are veiled."

The voice; the same, melodic voice that I heard all those night ago. Rich and clear, it breathes life into the stale silence around it.

"Something stirs in the East. A sleepless malice." The cloaked figure stiffens, as if having just seen something frightening. "The eye of the enemy is moving."

His head turns to the side, glancing at the person next to him, then over his shoulder. Such beautiful eyes, filled with so much fear. They are looking at me now. Our gazes lock each other in place; unmoving and unwavering. His soft features, glowing in the starlight, are tensed. Pale lips move to form a single phrase, the same one I hear every time I close my eyes.

_ "He is here."_

"Who?" I try to ask him, "Who is here?" But he does not reply. He never does. Not before the barbed black shaft whizzes past my ear and embeds itself into his chest. Red blood trickles from the wound, but still he continues to look at me. There is not fear in his eyes now, but pain.

"You left me," he whispers, collapsing to his knees. A single tear traces its way down his cheek. "Why did you leave me?"

A single breath escapes his lips, and then he is gone.

* * *

><p>I awake with a cry of "No!" My blurry eyes swim violently as I claw at the image before me, willing it to come back so I can save him. So I can be with him. Anything to prevent that arrow from piercing his heart. But it does not, and the dream fades away just as quickly as it came. In the blink of an eye. Chest heaving, I scramble backwards before pressing up against a tree trunk. My forehead is balmy with sweat as I struggle to calm my wild nerves.<p>

When I eventually snap out of my panic, I see that Carca is already awake. He sits patiently several feet away, tail curled over his paws, watching me as I rise unsteadily to my feet.

"Is something wrong?" he inquires, blinking at me strangely.

"Not at all," I wheeze, "it's just… I keep having these… these dreams. And they all involve _him._"

The dark Breyta simply chuckles before coming to stand beside me. Together we watch as the sun spreads back into the sky, igniting the clouds in golden fire.

"So it is the elf that troubles your sleep," he says evenly. "Tell me, Keira, why do you still bother yourself with him? He is nothing but a ghost to you now."

"A ghost that has a very nasty habit of haunting my sleep." I traipse over to where my sword lies several feet away. The Elven blade seems to glow as I slide it out of the scabbard, marveling at its deadly beauty. Its edges are as sharp as razors, and the swirling patterns lining its sides shimmer with crystals. The sword's name is Aduial, or the Eventide in Westron. I gave it the title after it had slain its hundredth orc. I thought it suited it, for wherever it goes, it bathes the ground in a sea of red blood. A tide of crimson. A salty ocean of red.

It brings death to those who stand in its way.

My fingers drum on Aduial's hilt before, reluctantly, I slide the blade back into its scabbard. I then tie its straps around my waist so that it hangs firmly against my hip. Yawning, I reach down and pick up my oaken bow.

"I'll find us some breakfast," I say groggily before slinging the quiver across my back and vanishing into the forest.

* * *

><p>The woods are silent; eerily so. My neck prickles as I feel dozens of beady eyes peering down at me from the treetops. A rabbit abruptly darts across my path, and I string an arrow and crouch down in the brush. The wild hare pauses at the base of a tree-trunk, scanning around for danger. Its nose twitches nervously. I take in a deep, quiet breath as I aim the arrow tip straight at the creature's body. Its ears flick back and forth. My fingers stroke along my bowstring.<p>

After a few moments of stillness, I release the arrow. It whizzes soundlessly through the air before striking the rabbit in the ribcage. The animal's head is thrown back, and a scream erupts from its lungs. Its agony is cut short, however, when I send another arrow speeding into its neck.

Stomach clenched, I rise up from my hiding place before trudging over to where the creature lies, pinned to the trunk of the oak tree. Its muscles twitch spastically, and I grimace as I wrench the two arrows from its body. Blood spills out from the wounds, creating a river of red that snakes its way along the forest floor. I mutter a prayer of thanks before gripping the dead animal by its hind legs and tucking it into my belt.

"One down, two to go," I mutter absentmindedly. After all, I will need to add to more woodland creatures to my kill-count in order to feed both myself and Carca.

Suddenly, I hear a dull snapping sound from somewhere to my right. In an instant I have strung another arrow and hold my bow at the ready. I swing it around wildly, eyes searching for whatever made the noise. My vision has sharpened so drastically over the years that I can now see as well as a falcon.

Another snap, this time behind me. Adrenaline pumps in my veins as I swivel on heel, preparing for the oncoming attack. Instead, my eyes are met with the steely blue gaze of a blonde-haired elf. He wields a lithe silver blade, that of which he holds ready at eye-level. His pale features are tight with strain.

For a moment we stand there in dead silence. Neither one of us sure what to do. Neither ready to make the first move. Then the stranger speaks up.

"Who are you, and what business have you in these woods?"

His voice is smooth and melodic, and I narrow my eyes. Pointed ear tips poke out from beneath his long, deep-gold hair. This stranger is of Elf-kind. I lower my bow slightly.

"Why do you care?" I bite back. The elf blinks at me before sheathing his blade in a single, graceful movement.

"You are of Elven-kind," he says with a sigh, peering at me closely.

Yet another reason why being a Were-rider isn't so bad. My ear tips grew back.

"Only half. My father was human."

The fair creature bugs his eyes ever so slightly.

"Have you any relation to Lord Elrond?"

"I do not." My eyes scan over his flawless features. "And yourself?"

There is a brief pause as the elf ponders whether or not to give away his identity. Finally, after what seems like an age, he gives in and says, "No, but I do take residence in his house. I am Glorfindel of Imladris." The blonde elf bows his head to me.

"Why then have you ventured so far from Rivendell?" I ask. "It must be at least five days journey!"

"You are right," he says softly, his gaze downcast. "I came searching for someone who I fear to be wayward in his travels."

"Someone… or something? My companion and I heard strange noises coming from the wild lands of Bree whilst we passed it by."

"Companion?" Glorfindel cocks his head. "You are not alone in your travels?"

As if on cue, a vicious roar rips through the once peaceful serenity of the forest.

"Who goes there?" booms a grating voice, and the elf draws his blade. His muscles are tense with anticipation.

Rolling my eyes, I turn around and shout out a reply.

"He's a friend, you idiot. Now get out here and stop making a fool of yourself!" While Glorfindel stares at me like I have just dropped out of the sky, a very large and very real Breyta does just that. He smashes through the treetops before making a hard landing right beside me. His fangs are bared with menace, and his hackles are raised to their full height.

"Friend_?_" he snaps out. "If that is so, answer me this. Why are you here, and what business have you with Kiera?"

"What are you?" says Glorfindel numbly, hands shaking.

_Not a smart thing to say, _definitely _not a smart thing to say…_

"_What? _Is that all I am to you? A _what?" _Carca's wings stretch out from his sides, smothering the elf's fair complexion in their dark shadows. "If you are foolish enough to refer to me in such a manner, then I might as well kill you now and be done with…"

"Carca!"  
>The wolf flinches at my loud tone before tossing his mane indignantly. I jab a finger over my shoulder.<p>

"Go."

"I was merely trying to protect you from…"

_"Go!"_

The Breyta seems to sense the broiling anger in my voice, for he quickly obliges to my command. He knows from experience not to test my rage.

"Now," I say, turning to Glorfindel. "Please let me apologize. He is not overly fond of strangers." A loud 'hrmph' sounds from behind me, but I do my best to ignore it. "Now, tell me, what friend do you speak of?"

"Is that your… companion?" stammers out the elf. My hands clench into fists. I hate it when people avoid answering my questions.

"Yes, he is, now back to the subject. Glorfindel—that is your name, correct?—who are you searching for?"

"The bearer of a burden that I dare not speak of here." The elf glances back warily. "Lord Elrond fears that the agents of evil have befallen him."

A shudder runs all to way from the base of my spine to the tips of my fingers.

"Agents of evil, you say?"

"The Nine Riders," he whispers. "Ringwraiths, if you will. However you refer to them, it matters not. They have been pursuing the ring-bearer ever since they were summoned by their Master."

"The Ringwraiths?" I gasp. "Why, they have not been seen for an age!"

"Sauron's power grows with every passing hour. It was only a matter of time before he sent them out to search for the One." Glorfindel narrows his eyes at me. "Perhaps that is what you are. An evil thing sent here to make me stray from my path, bore by a winged demon."

"She is the Were-rider!"

My eyes widen as Carca steps up to the elf, golden eyes burning with rage.

"Do you know of what I speak, elfling? She is of a power so great that it makes your Elvish magic look like a petty thing." His ears flatten against his head. "You dare disown her?"

"One of the Chosen," gapes the elf. "Valar forbid, we believed you all to be dead!"

"Well dead I am not."

Glorfindel pales before taking a knee.

"Forgive me," he says softly. "I meant no dishonor to you."

"Oh, get up," I say, thwacking him on the shoulder with my bow. "I am not royalty. All I ask is that you tell me where you are going."

"For what reason, my lady?" Glorfindel frowns as he stands once more.

"Because I am going to help you."

Shock registers on the elf's face.

"The Nine are not to be idly trifled with, Were-rider or not. Why do you wish to help me?"

"That is none of your concern. Tell me, Glorfindel, where is the one you search for?"

"Several miles due east. My horse, Asfaloth, and I have ridden continuously day and night, stopping only to eat." The blonde elf gazes at me with a conflicted expression. "It is my understanding that this is no chance meeting, Were-rider."

"No, it is not. It is my duty to rid this world of evil. Carca and I will aid you in your search." The Breyta scoffs at the thought, but Glorfindel remains silent. His eyes have a strange transcendent glow about them, like miniature silver moons. He does not fully trust me; not yet, anyway, and for good reason. I don't think I'd trust me, either. Even if I claimed to be the Were-rider.

"Can you ride him?" he asks suddenly, gesturing to Carca. I nod in reply, and Glorfindel gives a sharp whistle. Moments later, I see a speckled white stallion come trotting out of the foliage to my right. The elf mummers something to him before mounting the horse.

"Glorfindel!" I say. The elf turns to look at me. "Please, do not speak of my identity to anyone else."

"None shall know of it," he replies, then continues, "I will search from the ground while you and your companion watch from the air. Do not venture far, as the Ringwraiths are very powerful. Even to one so great as yourself." With that Glorfindel lets out a breathless cry of, "Noro lim!" before both he and the horse vanish into the forest.

* * *

><p>"Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous!"<p>

Carca is so furious with me, I'm afraid that his head might implode in on itself. What a sight that would be…

"Listen to me," I tell him. "Glorfindel means us no harm, and I fear that if we do not assist him, he too will fall prey to the evil of the Nine Riders. Do you not think the same?"

"Celeb is going to skin your hide and tack it to the wall when she finds out what you've dragged us into."

_"Me? _If you hadn't of blown our cover in the first place, than I don't suppose any of this would have happened!"

The Breyta continues to grumble as we glide swiftly above the treetops, watching as Asfaloth gallops beneath us. The horse fades in and out of view as we fly overtop a particularly dense patch of foliage. Its white coat blends into the rays of sunlight, giving it the appearance of a ghost.

"Keep your eyes open," I tell him, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "We cannot let him escape. I feel that this elf has more to tell us."

"Does he, now?" Carca chuckles condescendingly. "Fantastic."

Irritated, I knock him upside the head. He snaps angrily, fur bristling, before plunging into a steep dive as the forest dips into a valley. Wind screams over the tops of his wings as a fierce updraft shoves him back up into the sky. If it weren't for that, his paws would've clipped the tree tops.

"What are you doing, trying to kill us?" The wolf promptly ignores me. He then tucks in his wings and sweeps down into a barrel dive. My stomach lurches up into my throat. "Okay, I'm sorry! Stop it, Carca!"

"But we have only just begun!" he cries, and I feel terror course through me as I note the lake stretching out before us.

"Oh no… no, no, NO! You dirty rat! If you so much as make one move for that lake, I swear I'll..."

I am cut off midsentence as Carca plunges head first into the freezing water. My lungs seize up as I accidentally inhale a mouthful of the icy fluid. Pain rockets through my chest as we explode out from the surface. Spluttering and panting, I shoot the wolf a scathing look before reefing back on his harness. The Breyta lets out a surprised yelp as he loses momentum. A cry of glee escapes my lips as his wings are thrown back by a gust of wind, and Carca crashes into the muddy shoreline. I fall from the saddle and lie curled on the ground, sides heaving with laughter.

"_Keira_!" roars Carca, eyes gleaming with anger. Under any other circumstances, his tone would have terrified me, but given that the Breyta's face is almost completely caked in mud, it is simply hysterical. Tear spring into my tears as I roll towards the wolf, desperately trying to contain my snorting.

"Your face!" I howl, pointing at him. "Why Carca, you look positively _terrifying!"_

"You find this humorous?" Carca scowls in with disproval as he shakes gloms of mud from his wings, which does nothing but send me into a further tizzy. Wiping moisture from my eyes, I flip up the visor on my helmet before getting to my feet and jogging over to the Breyta.

"Admit it," I say whilst wiping mud from his feathers, "you deserved it."

"Bah! I was not—and certainly never shall be—deserving of such… such humiliation."

I snort before scooping up a handful of water and splashing it over his face. Carca's lips raise as mud drips from his snout, rivulets of brown against his ebony fur.

"My Lady Keira!"

I whirl around to see Glorfindel emerging from the forest. His face is tense with worry.

"Is everything all right?" asks the elf urgently. "Are you hurt?"

"Not at all," I reply simply, sliding back onto the Breyta. "We were merely stopping to get a drink… the landing was rather messy, though. Shall we continue on?"

Squinting, the blonde elf gives a brief nod before turning Asfaloth round and setting off once more.

"Come on," I say upon noting Carca's annoyed expression. "As the Were-rider, I instruct you to follow the elf Glorfindel. I have taken it upon myself to protect him from the Nine Riders and whatever else lies ahead on our journey."

"What is it with you and elves?" he inquires snidely before crouching down and launching into the sky.

It is nearing midday by the time we locate Glorfindel's 'friends.'

There are six beings altogether. One is a man, the other a tawny pony, and four smaller persons that are about the size of children. The man walks ahead of the rest of the company, followed closely by two small people with ginger hair. Bringing up the rear is a stocky blond boy, ushering on the pony that bears the last person. He has dark hair and appears to be in some sort of stupor.

"There!" I call to the elf, gesturing up ahead, "Along the path!" Glorfindel nods his thanks to me as he spurs his horse into a fast-paced gallop. Meanwhile, the company appears to heard something, as they quickly spring away into the shadows foliage lining the pathway. Carca swoops down low over the trees before alighting in a large pine. The tree groans and crackles upon the Breyta's weight, and I can do nothing but plea it will hold as Glorfindel comes to a stop before the hidden folk. He peers around for a moment, hair billowing out behind him, before I see the man emerge from his hiding place. Glorfindel gives a cry of greeting before sliding gracefully off of Asfaloth and striding forth to meet him. They talk for a brief moment, though I cannot quite make out what they say, before the man gestures to the rest of the company. I watch as the four small people spring out from behind various objects before bustling over to them.

"This is Glorfindel, who dwells in the house of Elrond," I hear the man say. Something about the voice seems familiar to be, and I lean forward, straining to hear it.

Unfortunately, that tiny movement appears to proves to be the last hurrah for the poor little tree limb. Alas, with an enormous crack, the thing bows and splinters beneath us. Carca lets out a howl as the branch gives way, sending us tumbling towards the ground.

"Look out!" I yell, and Glorfindel dances to the side just as the Breyta and I smash into the ground not a hairsbreadth away from him. A gasp resonates from the group as the Carca attempts to regain his footing. His wings splay out at various angles, and I wince as my forehead thumps into the saddle.

When Carca finally manages to right himself, I look up to find five sets of eyes staring daggers into us. So much for our grand entrance.

"So," I say, dusting myself off. "These are your friends, I presume?"

"Oi!" cries one of the ginger-haired people. "She's talking! She's actually talking! What is she, Strider?"

"I have not the slightest idea," the man mumbles, looking to me. Green eyes gaze into mine, clear and calculated. Familiar eyes.

Then it hits me. Twenty years ago, back when I was just a girl, lost in Mirkwood with only the Elves to guide me. There was a Ranger; a Ranger who brought in the creature Gollum to be kept in the Elves' prison. I clap a hand over my mouth to muffle a gasp.

"Have we met before?" The man is frowning now, taking in my pointed ears.

"A long time ago." His eyes sparkle with knowing, and I smile wryly. "I am Keira, if you recall."

"Keira" he smiles, and all eyes turn to him.

"You know this girl?" inquires Glorfindel.

"Not well enough, as I see that she is now far different than I remember." He glances down at Carca. "Your companion is a fearsome thing to behold. I do not recall having ever encountered his race before."

"If you had, you would no longer be breathing," I say plainly. "The Breyta are a very… violent race."

"Hey, you!"

The cry comes from somewhere behind us. I look over my shoulder to see the chubby blonde skittering over to us. His hazel eyes are wild with fear and anger.

"Speak loud enough for us all to hear! Who are you, and what do you want with Mr. Frodo?"

"Sam," says Strider softly, but the little man will not be silenced.

"My name is Keira," I reply calmly, dismounting from Carca. "And like Glorfindel, I am here to help you." He opens his mouth to say more but is cut short when I brush back my hair, revealing my ears' pointed tips. "You see? I am of Elvenkind; I mean you no harm."

"I—I just thought that…" He gives up on a reply and instead gestures to the black-haired fellow atop the pony. "You see, Mr. Frodo's very sick. He's been stabbed by one of those Black Riders." Sam then goes on about how the whole incident unfolded. The mood of the company seems to darken with his every word. Finally, after the story had been told, Strider pulls from his cloak a lithe black blade. Various symbols have been engraved on its smoky-gray hilt, and Glorfindel shivers visibly.

"There are evil things written on this hilt," he says.

"Quite right," I tell him. The elf glances over at me before extending out the blade.

"Take it. You will know more of its true evil than I."

Grimacing, I take the sword from his outstretched palms and hold it up in the sunlight. Glorfindel then bustles over to where the dark-haired one—Frodo, I think it was—sits atop the pony.

"A Morgul blade," says Carca darkly. His breath stirs the hair behind my ear, warm against the chilly breeze. "It is quite surprising that the little hobbit has not already fallen victim to its evil. I fear that he will last no more than another day with its poison in his blood."

"What did you call him?" I ask, glancing over at the wolf.

"A hobbit. Have you not heard of them before?"

"Yes, of course I have, it's just… well, I've never actually _seen _one before, not to mention four of them!" Carca and I watch as Glorfindel probes the wound on Frodo's shoulder, his face shadowed grimly.

"You shall ride my horse," says the elf abruptly, gesturing to where Asfaloth stands several feet away. He then proceeds to assure the young hobbit of his stallion's quick wits and smooth gate.

"No!" cries Frodo. "I shall not ride him! Not if I am to leave my friends behind to face such a danger!"

"I will watch over them," I cut in, looking to Carca. "We both will."

Glorfindel blinks gratefully at me as Frodo goes silent, pondering over the thought. He remains that way for several long, dragging moments until finally, he says, "I will do it."

The company, led by Glorfindel, proceeds to trek forward for the remainder of the day. Carca remains surprisingly silent as we glide overhead them; I would've thought that he would be protesting by now. After all, this whole thing was my idea, not his.

As the hours slowly bleed away in the nightfall, a feeling of unease begins to draw over me. Something about this whole ordeal is not quite right. My fingers have begun to tingle with anxiety, and even Carca seems more alert than usual.

"He has it," I say suddenly, after what seems like an eternity of silence. "The dark-haired one. I sense something different about him."

"It is in the pocket of his cloak," replies the Breyta. "I hear voices whispering to me, willing me to move closer. The young hobbit is not as weak as he seems if he dares to bear such a burden." Carca furrow his brow. "But why on earth would the Ring chose _him _as its bearer?"

"I don't think it chose him. There is something that they have yet to tell us, but I assure you that the truth will come out. Eventually."

After several more hours of continuous trekking, Glorfindel brings the group to a halt.

"Rest now," he instructs sharply, looking up at the sky. "As for you, Were-rider, you are free to do whatever you wish. I thank you for helping me locate the others, but please know that I ask no more of you." I give the elf a short nod and watch as he sits down beside the prone bodies of the sleeping hobbits. Strider comes to stand beside him, and the two proceed to speak in hushed whispers.

"What now?" I ask as Carca hovers over the trees. "Do we leave them now and pray that they arrive safely? Or do we continue to follow them?"

"The choice is yours, Keira. I have no further opinion on the matter."

I grumble to myself before propping my elbow on my thigh.

"No opinion, eh? Well I guess it's all up to me now." The wolf nods. "Fine then. We stay with them until they arrive safely to Rivendell."

"As you wish."

Glorfindel wakes us later in the morning, and then we are off once more. Carca and I fair reasonably well; after years of hunting the Lypta and then being hunted in return, we have learned how to live on little to no sleep. The hobbits, however, do not have that luxury. The ginger-haired cousins—Merry and Pippin were their names— appear almost undead as they stumble along the forest path. Glorfindel is constantly looking between them and Frodo, who now sits atop Asfaloth. Sam, however, seems to be just fine as he leads along his tawny pony. The stocky hobbit appears to have a fondness for the animal, and it him.

I am just in the midst of admiring Sam's perseverance when something alerts Carca. The Breyta's entire body seems to seize up with fear, and he banks sharply to the left.

"What is it?" I ask quickly, unsheathing my sword. "What's wrong?"  
>The wind furls past me, filling my ears with its hissing whispers. The hairs on my arms stand straight up, and dread courses through my veins. There is the foul sound of black speech tainting this breeze.<p>

"Fly!" I hear Glorfindel cry just as a piercing scream explodes from somewhere behind us. "The enemy is upon us!"

"Carca, don't move," I say, watching as the elf attempts to usher Frodo forward. The hobbit, however, remains frozen in place. Asfaloth prances beneath him, unsure of what to do. My eyes catch onto a black shape emerging from the trees behind them.

"Run, Frodo!" I scream before tugging on Carca's harness. The wolf flips before diving down towards the forest beneath us. His golden eyes narrow as he takes in the form of the black horse and its rider galloping towards the company. The dark stallion tosses its mane and lets out a horrid scream just as the Breyta slams head-first into his body. Black claws latch into the horse's sides before ripping downwards. The Nazgul atop it howls in anguish as its steed groans before toppling over, dead.

"_Were-rider_!" it hisses. _"Were-rider!"_

"See you in the Halls of Mandos, filth." I raise up a hand and let out a sharp cry, willing all my anger to be transferred into it. A powerful boom erupts from my palm, and a spear of white-hot lightening shoots out from it. It stabs straight into the Ringwraith's ghoulish face, disintegrating the creature in an instant.

"Well done," rumbles the wolf. "Celeb has taught you well."

"That should hold him for a while," I say, watching as the ashes of the creature swirl around in an angry black cloud. "There, Carca!" I point to another Rider several meters in front of us. The Breyta snarls and moves to attack just as six more Nazgul charge in from the west. Their horses canter to a halt as they sight in their target, Frodo Baggins. One of the Ringwraiths begins to speak in a foul tongue, willing the hobbit to succumb to his growing fear. Frodo's blue eyes widen with terror, and just when it looks like he has given up hope, Glorfindel lets out a cry of, "Noro lim, Asfaloth!", and the horse lunges forward. The white animal thunders down the pathway before rounding a sharp bend and disappearing into the shadows. The Nazgul shriek with rage before giving chase after the hobbit. No sooner have they disappeared around the curve than Carca and I are back in the sky joining in on the pursuit.

"He won't stand a chance against the Nine!" I cry, watching as Asfaloth gallops out from the forest and into a great river foaming about the entrance to Rivendell. The water is relatively shallow, and the stallion has managed to swim across it by the time the Nazgul emerge from the treeline. Carca abruptly extends his wings, halting us midair.

"What are you doing? Go to him!"  
>"A deep magic lies in this river," he says, glancing down at the clear rapids. "There is no need for us to intervene." My heart pounds in my chest as the Black Riders urge their horses forward into the water. With each step they grow closer and closer to obtaining their goal. Asfaloth comes to a stand-still on the stands on the shoreline before rearing up at the dark creatures.<p>

"Carca, you're sentencing him to death!"  
>The words have hardly come out of my mouth when a noise like a thunder rumbles in the distance. Eyes wide, I look down just in time to see an enormous wave come crashing down onto the Nazgul. Hideous wails fill the air as their dark horses are thrown off their feet and submerged into the foaming water. It all unfolds in a matter of moments, and within seconds all of the riders have disappeared into the yawning mouth of the river.<p>

My mouth snaps shut with an audible clank.

"Well… that was unexpected," I say tightly. Carca chuckles.

His humor is cut short, however, when Frodo's body sags forward before falling from Asfaloth's saddle.

"Frodo!" I yelp out, ushering Carca towards his still form. The Breyta obliges instantly as he swoops down from the sky before landing beside him. Almost as soon as his paws touch the ground, I am leaping off of the wolf and jogging over to the hobbit's body.

"Frodo, no." I kneel down beside him and gather his head into my lap. Frodo lets out a moan, and I bend down and brush my lips across his cheek. "Hold on, little one; hold on for just a bit longer." I slip my arms underneath his knees and neck before staggering to my feet. His body stiffens suddenly, and a shallow cry escapes his lips.

"He's fading fast," I tell the Breyta, cradling Frodo tight to my chest. "I need to get him to Rivendell."

"Keira, if we do this…" Carca sighs before looking me directly in the eye. "If we do this, there is no telling how the elves will react. Glorfindel was gracious enough to trust you, but as for the others… I am not so sure. I cannot promise your wellbeing while we are among them." The black wolf steps up to me before pressing his forehead into my temple. "All I want is to keep you safe."

A single tear streaks down my cheekbone as I lean into him.

"Carca, there will be no we."

The Breyta stiffens at my comment before pulling back slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"They'd kill you, and I'm not willing to take that risk."

"Keira, I cannot let you do this alone!" he cries, golden eyes round with sadness.

"You have to."

A long silence stretches out between us before, slowly and deliberately, Carca takes a step back. The wolf casts one last look at me before nodding towards the pathway up ahead.

"Go," he says lowly. "But do not be long. And keep your identity hidden."

I nod solemnly before stepping forward and hoisting Frodo's body onto Asfaloth. After a moment of adjusting him to fit the saddle, I hop up behind him. Taking the horse's reigns in my hand, I look over at my companion.

"See you soon," I tell him before spurring Asfaloth forward. The stallion sets off at a brisk trot, and I don't bother with trying to guide him. Glorfindel's horse knows where to go. I glance back over my shoulder, watching as Carca's form shrinks down into the distance until it has vanished in the light of the morning sun.

"Hold on, Frodo," I whisper, clutching the hobbit in my arms. Then, as the river Bruinen slowly fades into the distance, I say something that I have not said for twenty years. That I had not ever found the need to say, because back then I wasn't alone. Wasn't without my trusted companion. Wasn't having to leave him behind to save the life of someone I don't even know.

But now, at the gates to Rivendell, it is the only thing keeping me from turning back.

"Be strong, Keira."

_Be strong for the one you left behind all those years ago. Be strong for the ghost that haunts your steps. Be strong for the one person you've ever been able to love._

_Be strong for him._

* * *

><p>Thanks once again for reading! Hope you all have a great weekend!<p> 


	16. Revived

The icy mountain wind bites into my face as Asfaloth thunders down the pathway, tireless in his stride. My lungs scream for mercy as I draw in breath after pained breath. Frodo's skin has turned a deathly pale; so pale, in fact, that I can make out the veins in his forehead. His blue eyes are open wide, unblinking, and a foul green liquid seeps from their corners. The hobbit makes no noise except for the occasional moan.

"We're here, Frodo," I say breathlessly as Glorfindel's steed rounds the corner of the cliff-side, revealing the Elven city. Night has long since fallen, and the moon bathes Imladris in a cold silver light. Its many waterfalls hiss and sputter as they bleed out into the dark abyss beneath us. Swallowing hard, I tighten my hold on the hobbit's torso before wrapping my thick jacket around us both. Frodo's form feels miniscule when compared to my own; no more than a child. His lips, blue from cold, are chapped and bleeding, and I try to ignore the fear that has begun to nag my mind. The fear that the hobbit might not make it to Rivendell alive.

"Come on, Frodo; come on, Frodo!" Asfaloth leaps over a large boulder protruding from the cliff, and I grip harder onto the reigns to prevent myself from falling. The Elven horse snorts as he makes his way down an impossibly steep drop in the path. Hot air blows from his nostrils as the animal's hooves try to find footing in the smooth surface. Several agonizing moments pass by before Asfaloth suddenly lunges forward, propelling himself further down the pathway. The ground begins to even out as he makes for the arched bridge leading into Rivendell. My heart flutters with hope as I hear the shouts resonating from within the city's walls. Almost as soon as Asfaloth's hooves contact with the stone bridge, a lithe figure emerges from the shadows and bustles down the staircase to meet us. The horse lets out a low murmur as he trots up to the cloaked figure.

"The hobbit. He's... very sick," I manage to wheeze out as I slide down from the saddle. My throat feels as if it is lined with thorns, and I swallow with a grimace before gesturing to Frodo. "Please, there isn't much time."

The elf standing before me barks out a sharp command, and no sooner has he arrived than two other persons emerge from the shadows. They hustle forward before coming to stand on either side of Asfaloth. One works on keeping the hobbit stable atop the saddle while the other leads the horse along a dark path winding down deep into Rivendell's heart.

Watching as Asfaloth's pearly hide disappears into the night, I hardly notice that there is still another person here with me. My breaths come out in ragged gasps, and I clutch at my chest in an attempt to relieve my burning lungs.

"I know your voice."

My weary eyes travel up before being pulled into the stormy grey gaze of none other than Lord Elrond himself. I let out a little bleak of surprise before taking a step back. It is a staggering, almost drunken motion. After all, I have not had more than a half-hour of sleep in over two days. Suddenly, an aching pain rockets down my side, and my knees buckle beneath me. I would have cracked my skull on the cobblestone pathway if it were not for the strong arms of Elrond breaking my fall. The elf slips his hands around my knees and neck before hoisting me up. I try to concentrate on his face, but my eyes do not wish to comply. They roll back into my head as the world around me begins to spin out of control.

_You used too much magic, _I think, recalling my earlier encounter with the Nazgul. Just as any other power, my 'gifts', as Celeb likes to call them, are not limitless. It has been just over a decade since I first discovered them. I was out hunting a pack of Orcs with Carca when I began to feel light-headed and faint. The Breyta had been forced to carry me back to the cavern in which we live, but not before the Valar granted me the use of an element so great that not even I can quite wrap my mind around it.

After that, Celeb trained me how to use it. It's a tedious thing, the boundaries of magic. Though most wizards convey their powers through staffs, I did not comply with the idea. The thought of me carrying around a bulky stick was laughable at best, and thus I chose to use my hands instead. Granted, it is a bit of a dangerous process; one little mistake in concentration could result in my imploding in on myself. It was only after years of working with it that I was able to master its abilities.

But with every great gift comes an even greater consequence.

"Frodo," I mumble, fazing in and out of a dream. "The Nazgul. They… they…"

"Hush, child," says the elf gently. "Save your strength."

My head lolls against Elrond's chest, and the last thing I remember is the lavender smell of his robes before I lose my grip on the world.

* * *

><p>I awake to the trilling of the birds.<p>

It is a sharp sound, but at the same time harbors a certain calming quality to it. I frown slightly before giving an enormous yawn. My eyelids feel as if they have been plated with iron, and it is only after a long struggle that I manage to open them. Vision swimming, I prop my elbows on either side of me as I push myself into a sitting position. A garbled cry escapes my lips when I see the figure of a man emerge from the corridor to my right.

"Do not be frightened," he says smoothly. "I mean you no harm and come only to see how you fair."

"Who… who are you?" I stammer, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to get a good look at him.

"Save your voice, child. I am Lindir, though I suppose that you might already be as familiar with my name as I am with yours. After all, this is not the first time that we have met." The dark-haired elf strides over to the bed before handing me something. Looking up, I am surprised to find that his hands harbor a steaming mug of tea. I take it eagerly and let its warm, raspberry scent drift into my nose.

"That was a brave thing you did. Saving the hobbit." Lindir smirks as I take a sip of the tea. "Though I must say, I did not think that we would be seeing you again. Especially under such worrisome matters as these."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Nearly three days."

My eyes bug, and I nearly drop the cup.

"Three_ days?"_

"You needed your rest, Keira."

Keira. Not Keira the Were-rider, or Keira the Chosen One. Just Keira. It sounds better that way.

"How are they?" I ask, looking up at Lindir. "Frodo and the others? I presume they did return safely?"

The elf nods. "Lord Elrond has healed Frodo's wound as best he can, and none of the others were injured. Glorfindel spoke very highly of your actions, as did Estel and the young hobbits. You have become regular topic of conversation here in Imladris."

I nearly sigh with relief. It appears Glorfindel has kept his word, after all. "Have I, now?"

Miniscule wrinkles fan out from the elf's eyes, and I find myself wondering how old he is. There is a certain youth about Lindir that suggests that he is younger than some of the other elves that I have come across in my travels. My fingers drum along the sides of the mug, and I am just about to speak up when a sharp cry of, "There!" sounds from outside my quarters. My heart-rate skyrockets, and I feel my palms begin to grow warm with energy. Multiple footsteps echo down the halls, and the only thing preventing me from springing out of bed is Lindir's strong hand gripping onto my shoulder.

"Don't worry," he says softly. "It is only the hobbits."

"Hopefully."

An enormous boom sounds from behind the door to the room, followed closely by an exasperated huff. Lindir smiles wryly before striding over to it.

"Oi, Merry, I hear footsteps!" pipes a voice.

"So do I, Pip. Erm… excuse me, whoever you are, would you mind opening up the door? We've come to see the Lady Keira."

The elf shoots me a questioning look, and I nod. "Lady Keira is still recovering from her experience with the Black Riders, but I am sure she would be pleased with your company." Lindir reaches out and pulls open the door. Three hobbits—the two gingers and the blonde—scurry in almost as soon as the opening is wide enough to allow them passage. The two cousins immediately come up to me, while the third remains a respectable distance away. A quiet one, that Sam.

"Is it true?" the one named Merry asks. "Did you really save Frodo from the Nazgul?"

"Hardly," I say, leaning close to them. My next words are spoken so lowly that not even Lindir can distinguish them. "Before I say more, you two must promise me something. Promise that you will never speak of my companion's existence again. The Elves do not need to know about him. They would not understand." The hobbits blink in unison before nodding rapidly. I smile. "Good. Now, what did you want to know?"

"If it's alright for us ask," says Pippin, "I—we were wonderin' how exactly you defeated the Black Riders. Did you use some Elvish magic?"

Lindir turns sharply on heel, his brown eyes boring into me.

"What did you say?"

"Keira's an elf," says Merry.

"Half-elf," I correct softly.

The hobbits appear not to notice my comment. "Don't all elves have special powers?"

"To what powers are you referring?"

I shoot the hobbits a warning look, but it is too late.

"What powers?" crows Pippin. "Why, the Lady Keira burned one of the Nazgul into ashes! I saw it with my own eyes!"

The brown-haired elf folds his arms across his chest. His silver headpiece shines dimly in the morning light.

"Last I heard, you possessed no such—gifts. It is impossible to destroy a Nazgul."

"It was a temporary thing," I interject. "The Ringwraith was already starting to reform by the time I took pursuit of the other Riders." My eyes dart over to the ginger-haired hobbits, willing them to hold their tongues. "The remaining eight were felled in turn by the great river that lies at the gates of Rivendell."

"The River Bruinen is strong with Elven magic," says Lindir, "but the Nine Riders will not so easily be defeated. In time they will find new steeds to bear them, and when that day comes…" The elf shudders. "There is no telling what horrors they will bring."

"Now is not the time to dwell on such things, Lindir."

The elf's eyes flash, but he makes no further comment. Instead, I watch as he walks over to me before offering out an arm.

"Come, my lady. Lord Elrond awaits you in the courtyard. Perhaps there we can discuss more about these powers of yours."

_Not if I can help it._

I do not object as I reach up and take Lindir's hand. He presses his free palm into the middle of my back, steadying me as he pulls me to my feet. Though still a bit tipsy, I am able enough to stand straight without wobbling too much. That fact seems to please the elf, and he loops his arm through mine with a satisfied look in his eye. I glance back at the hobbits before shooting them a wry smile.

"I'll catch up with you later," I say as Lindir leads me out of the room and deep into the heart of Rivendell.

* * *

><p>"Keira. It has been a long time."<p>

Elrond paces slowly around the courtyard, his long silver robes trailing behind him. His footsteps are soundless, lighter even than the tread of a mouse. If only my own feet were not destined to be as clumsy as an ordinary man's. The human in me tends to show in ways that are not always most desired.

"Lord Elrond," I say breezily, sweeping onto the path before me. Without Lindir's warm arm guiding me, I feel strangely exposed. "It is an honor to be welcomed in your house once more."

"I did not think that we would be graced with your presence again, keeping in mind the events of your last being here."

An image flashes through my mind. Carca, bound in chains, bleeding from wounds too deep and ugly to heal. His golden eyes seeking me out amongst the darkness of the forge, willing me to come closer. Pleading for me to end his agony. A lump springs into my throat, and suddenly I am angry at Lord Elrond. I am angry for what he did to Carca, my protector. The only thing on this earth that had the decency to believe in my worth.

_Not the only thing, _voices my mind._ There was another who could see the potential in you. He believed in you._

Yes, he believed in me, but only because I pretended. I pretended to be a different girl; a strong and brave one, willing to fight for the ones she loved even if it cost her her life. Valiant Keira. That is who masked the pale face of a girl that was frightened out of her mind. The face of a girl whose only wish was to have her father back so that she didn't have to go on alone.

And when all was said and done, I left him.

Back in those days, Valiant Keira was just a dream, but now she has become reality. I have become her, just as I became the Were-rider. She is a part of me now.

"My actions for what occurred all those nights ago need not trouble you, my lord. I was a foolish girl, nothing more."

"What became of him?" inquires the elf, brushing a clump of dried leaves from the base of the statue centered in the middle of the courtyard. It depicts a beautiful elf-maid, veiled and weeping. Whoever she was, my heart tells me that her life was not a pleasant one.

"The wolf kept his word to me," I say, setting my jaw. "He took me back to Mirkwood, the home of my long lost half-sister, just like I asked him. And he was very decent about it, if I might add. I see no reason why you and your kin had him chained in your forge."

"That beast had been threatening to invade our borders for some time. I would not allow him to jeopardize the lives of my people."

"What did he ever do to deserve that?"

"The beast spoke, Keira." Elrond's grey eyes swirl like a storming sea. "He spoke of dark things that no creature should be allowed to obtain knowledge of."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you saying that Carca was too smart for you, my lord?"

"A creature such as himself could not be allowed to ally with our enemy. There are dark minds lurking within the world. Sauron no doubt knew of the power that he possessed. It was only a matter of time before he transformed him into a much darker thing."

I open my mouth to protest before thinking better of it. The elf did what he saw fit to protect his kin; should I really be picking a fight with an already troubled soul?

"If that is what you think, than I see no reason to argue against your beliefs." My smooth comment seems to relieve some of the tension between us, and Elrond's face visibly softens.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, striding forward until he is standing directly in front of me.

"Quite well, actually." After a short pause, I look up at him. "How is Frodo?"

"He fairs well, considering what he has been through . I sealed the wound, but I fear that the scar will continue to pain him for as long as he lives." Elrond clasps his hands together and lets out a long sigh. "I presume you know of the burden he bears?"

"Yes," I reply darkly. "Glorfindel informed me before the Ringwraiths came. The One Ring is a dangerous thing to behold. Tell me, my lord, of all the beings in Middle Earth, why choose him to be its next bearer?"

"Now that would be a question better reserved for Mithrandir."

"Mithrandir… ah, yes, the grey wizard. I have often heard of him wandering about the wild lands near where I live. Is he here in Rivendell?"

Elrond nods. "He has returned after having a skirmish with Saruman the White, with whom the Elves once held an alliance. But now I see that the white wizard has forsaken that. Gandalf tells me that he wishes to ally with the enemy."

"What a deadly union that would be."

"Indeed." The elf and I stand in silence for a moment as we observe the trees above us. Their flowering blossoms fill the air with a sweet, peaceful fragrance. I draw in a deep breath, allowing the fragrance to fill my lungs.

"Thank you for letting me stay here," I say. "I know that I did not behave kindly when last I came, but I pray that time has filled both our hearts anew with friendship."

The elf chuckles. "You have grown wise with your words, Keira Whitam. What has become of you these long years?"

"I am no different than I was." The lie feels sticky and sour as it curls from my tongue, yet it is all too familiar. It is the same lie that I tell to all of those that I meet. I assure them that my life is normal, when really it is anything but. After all, it is not like the world to handle such a situation with the proper respect. I would be cursed, beaten, and maybe even killed if I revealed who I truly was. The world will not believe me until the time comes for me to show my true worth, and even then I am not entirely sure if I will be accepted.

"There is an air about you, Keira. One that did not exist during our previous meeting. Are you certain that nothing of interest has happened to you?"

I almost give in, right then and there. Elrond's eyes are calm and considerate, filled with the same look of thoughtfulness that always lingered in my own father's gaze. In a way, the elf lord is a lot like Byron, though I would never dare to tell him that. He would surely take it as an insult.

"I am certain," I reply, trying desperately to smother my unease beneath a bright smile.  
>"I could say the same about you, Lord Elrond. You seem different to me, as well."<p>

The elf's lips twitch, but the action is brief and fades away almost as quick as it came.

"There is a great shadow crossing over the land," he says, looking out to the horizon. "Every day it draws closer to Rivendell; it lingers like a shadow in my mind. The presence of the One Ring here in Imladris will not go unnoticed. Sauron is bound to sense it here as time goes on."

"Then why did Frodo come here? And how was the Ring bestowed upon him in the first place?"

Elrond takes my hand and places it overtop his own. "Some things may be better off left unexplained. Come now, Keira, let us get you properly dressed."

* * *

><p>The sky is aglow with the rich hues of dawn by the time I have finished dressing. The elves saw to it that I was fashioned with a stunning purple gown. Its silken fabric billows around me, the jewels on its sleeves shimmering like miniature stars. My skin itself seems to glow anew as the elf maids, Falathiel and Vanya, set to work on my unruly hair.<p>

"Why are you doing this for me?" I ask as they comb out my endless tangles. "I see no reason why Lord Elrond cannot just let me go now. I am perfectly fine."

"It isn't safe," Falathiel replies. "You would surely be killed if you went out alone. Besides, it appears to me that you were long overdue for a bath and some proper clothing."

"I know how to handle myself in the vast wilderness of the world. Lord Elrond need not fear for my wellbeing."

"But he does, my child, and that is what you need to understand."

"There's been talk of an important meeting of late. Is it true that such a council will be held?"

The two elleths share a knowing look before glancing down at me. "The Council of Elrond," says Vanya breezily. "It will begin tomorrow afternoon, but pray tell no one you have heard about it. Representatives for both the race of men and dwarves have already arrived. They reside in our guest quarters, in Imladris' west corner. A rather rowdy group of fellows, the dwarves. I only hope that we have enough food to satisfy them during their stay."

"Sounds like this meeting is going to be important. Do you know what it pertains to?"

"That I cannot say. Already we have told you too much."

A shudder runs down my spine, and the elves' mood darkens substantially.

"So that is why they brought the hobbits here," I say. "To represent the Shire-folk, no doubt."

"More or less," mumbles Falathiel. The blond elleth gives a particularly painful tug at my hair, and I wince. A snapping sound resonates from the back of my head, followed by a soft gasp.

"Oh dear… I believe we are going to need another comb."

* * *

><p>The remainder of the hour is spent up in a whirlwind of frantic thoughts. After Falathiel and Vanya finished with my hair, I was released to roam wherever I pleased, as long as it was within Rivendell's boundaries. And there will be no escaping this time; five sentries stand guard at the city's gates. Nothing goes out, and nothing gets in.<p>

Well, almost nothing, as I would later learn.

"Ridiculous," I growl, pacing back and forth on the balcony to my room. "Of all the times to keep me here, it has to be when that filthy Ring is involved! Curse the elves and their hospitality! If it weren't for them, Carca and I could already be back with the other Riders." I stomp the ground angrily before gripping onto the railing. Knuckles white with strain, I close my eyes and allow my mind to empty.

"_Hear me, my friend," _Ithink."_ Let our minds meet, if not our bodies. As one we will bridge this gap between us."_

For a moment there is nothing but the songs of the birds filling my ears, but then I feel it. A strange buzzing sensation in the back of my head. It vibrates in my fingertips, and I smile widely.

"There you are."

"_I answer," _comes a deep voice, and I feel myself being carried far, far away from Rivendell and into a dense forest. When alas my mind comes to rest, my eyes take in the shadowy form of Carca billowing out before me. His golden eyes are clear despite the haziness of our connection.

"_I'm sorry it took me so long to call out. I was asleep for many hours."_

"_Are you well?" _Carca asks, his features tight with worry.

"_Quite. I just used my powers too hastily, that's all. Celeb warned me about their boundaries long ago. I was foolish to forsake her advice by taking on the Nazgul without the proper concentration."_

"_If all is well, then why are you not coming to me? I can barely see you, Keira; you are so far away…"_

"_The elves will not let me leave. Elrond is holding a meeting tomorrow afternoon, and very important one, at that. I believe that it pertains to the Ring. After it is finished, I suppose he will let me leave." _A gentle sigh escapes my lips. _"The elf lord is troubled, Carca. Evil threatens to breach Rivendell's borders, and he believes that I would be killed if he let me go so soon."_

"_I would be waiting for you on the cliff path. You would not be in danger."_

"_Elrond doesn't know that. He doesn't know that I'm the Were-rider, or that I have a Breyta warrior at my dispense. You said yourself that we best not tell him."_

"_That was before he insisted upon keeping you prisoner."_

Our mind connection is suddenly disrupted as the blast of a horn sounds from the gates. Carca calls out to me, but even he knows that there is no regaining the bond. My subconscious flits up and out of the woodland mind-place before rocketing back into my physical body. A gasp of shock escapes my lips as my eyes blink back into focus. After a moment of disorientation, I finally come to enough to take in the form of a white horse galloping down Rivendell's cobbled entry bridge. Five more canter behind it, but their pace cannot match that of the stallion and its rider.

"Valar forbid," I whisper, "more visitors?"

The two elleths had mentioned that there were men and dwarves present in Imladris, but she failed to mention that more guests were due to arrive. I had been tempted to investigate the temporary residents, as I have never seen a dwarf before, but quickly thought the better of it. After hearing about some of their unsavory habits, especially the eating ones, I saw it fit that I would do my best never to cross paths with them.

Clear voices ring out as the white horse trots into Rivendell's courtyard. Its rider is covered with a brown cloak, and though he is too far away for me to make out his face, something about the way he moves seems familiar. The way he slides of the saddle is no exception, and I watch on with mild curiosity as he peers about his new surroundings. The sun glints off of his long blond hair, making it shimmer like gold. Another elf. I roll my eyes and am just about to turn back when I hear a voice. It isn't loud by any means; more of a gentle thing, like a soft breeze rolling about the strings of a harp. Melodic, gentle, beautiful.

Familiar.

Without a moment's hesitation I have darted from the balcony and am making for the door. My heart pounds in my chest as I reach forward to turn the knob. I am so frantic that I hardly react when instead the door flings open in front of my face, revealing the tall form of Lindir. He gasps a little when he sees me.

"Is something wrong, my lady?"

I ignore his question and blow past him, dress billowing out behind me. My shoes make loud, unpleasant sounds against the stone as I sprint down a flight of stairs and out into the street. Several elves passing me by exchange confused glances as I bustle through the city, hiking up my dress to prevent myself from tripping.

Not five minutes later I have made my way down the winding streets and out into the courtyard. Nearly a dozen Rivendell elves are flocked around the newly-arrived guests, greeting them happily. Not wanting to disrupt their kind words, I settle to dancing along the outskirts of the group, praying to find an opening. Much to my relief, several of the elves lead the horses away, creating a bee-line towards the center.

Gathering up my courage, I let out a deep breath before plunging straight through the crowd. Confused murmurs begin to arise as I squeeze through the narrow gap before emerging into the opening. My eyes are met with over half a dozen blond heads, but it is only one that catches my eye.

He is standing in front of two elves, presumably good friends of his, and is in the middle of conversing with them when I give a gasp of shock. Embarrassed, I clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle the noise, but the damage has already been done. Every single pair of eyes turns to look at me, and I feel a violent blush begin to spread over my cheeks. The elf in front of me glances to the right, then to the left, then finally over his shoulder.

Blue eyes, as bright as the sapphires, reflect back all the shock that lies in my own gaze. They are softer than I remember; the cold metallic glint that always shone so bright seems to have vanished with the years past. It has been replaced by something calmer, deeper, and wiser. His gaze ensnares mine in an inescapable bond, and for a moment we stand there, frozen in place, before he swivels around to face me. Heart in my throat, I slowly let my hand fall from my lips.

_Valar forbid, it's really him._

The Prince blinks twice before dropping his gaze down to my shoulder. It stays there for a long, dragging moment, analyzing the bumpy white scar that shows through the thin fabric of my dress. Made by an Orc sword, twenty years ago. And, despite the elves' best efforts, a wound that has never really healed.

"Iston i nif gin…" There is a short pause. "Keira." Some of the elves cast strange looks at us before making their way out of the courtyard. Within a few moments none but the two of us remain.

"And I yours, Prince." An enormous sense of guilt washes over me, and I feel a lump come to rise in my throat. "Legolas, I'm so sorry for…"

"What evil fate is this?" he says suddenly. "That I should arrive here to be greeted by my betrayer? Long have my kin and I thought you to be dead, yet here you are. Within the walls of Imladris." There is fire in his eyes; angry, raging, burning. The calmness in them is turned into an inferno of emotion. "Alas, I have not words for this meeting, for my tongue will do nothing but wound." With that he shoulders past me before making for an archway. The other elves seem to sense the confrontation, as they have begun to disperse away from him.

"Wait," I whisper, then louder, "Legolas, wait, I beg of you! You know not of what I have been through!"

"Is that so?" He turns sharply on heel, lip curled with menace. "Do not think me to be some ignorant fool. I know it was you who summoned the white hounds. You, Keira, whom I once trusted with my life, betrayed me."

"I would never dream of such a thing! Do not speak like this, Legolas! Those wolves were Sauron's bane, sent out to destroy us. It was not my doing that brought them near."

The elf scoffs. "That is not what my eyes lead me to believe. They spoke to you as if on familiar terms."

"Those beasts _attacked _me!" I reach up and slip the dress away from my collarbone, revealing an oval-shaped patch of scaring made from the teeth of one of the Lypta. "Legolas, please, you have to believe me! I left you because that was the only way to save you!"  
>"Save me from what? The wolves? No, they have not been seen for twenty years."<p>

"Because they are hunting me!" Legolas narrows his eyes dangerously. "Don't you understand? It's me they want, not you! That is why I had to leave, because if I were to remain in Mirkwood, they would not hesitate to rally their forces and lay siege to the Palace."

"What makes you think that the Woodland Realm would be so easily attacked?"

"You do not know them as I do. They are evil of the purest form; demons in the skin of animals. Do not be deceived by their appearances; Sauron's hounds are not what they seem."

Legolas shakes his head before looking up at me. I am surprised to find that they are filled with sorrow instead of anger. "You were my friend, Keira. But times have changed. It has been twenty years, and your wishes to regain that friendship will be in vain. My heart cannot bear to trust you again." The elf shoots me a conflicted look before disappearing within the shadows of the archway.

I don't remember running back to my room. I don't remember shoving my way through the crowded streets. I don't remember the pain felt when I sliced open my right brow in my desperate attempt to find sanctuary. The wounding stone was sharp and cold, but I didn't feel its bite. All I know is the pain in my heart. It aches feverently, like a re-opened battle scar.

Shoving open the doors to my quarters, I attempt to regain some of my composure by slowing my pace to a walk. But some hurts go too deep to simply be ignored, and I give a small sob before sliding down beside my bed. Blood spills down from my injured forehead, blurring the vision in my right eye into nothing more than a cloud of red. I bury my face in my palms and allow the tears to come. Salty and bitter, they pour from my eyes in a stream of sorrow. Silent sobs rock my body, and I bite down on my lip in an attempt to stem them.

"Valar," I whisper. "Valar, in all your good grace, I beg of you tell me. What treason have I committed to deserve such hate? Such utter rejection from the one I once called my friend?" My fingernails dig into my scalp. "Will you not let me tell him, as I did Glorfindel? Would you reprimand me for it? Would you label me a disgrace as a Rider and find another to take my place?" I let my hands drop into my lap, my palms marred with trails of blood. "Such hate."

And as the hours of time drift by, I remain there, broken and weeping, mourning for that which I can never have, until night's sweet touch envelopes me in darkness.

* * *

><p>"You are no elf."<p>

The sudden voice startles me out of my stupor, and I sit up with a gasp. I brush away bloody strands of hair as my eyes dart around the room, searching for any presence that dares accompany me in my anguish.

"The men of the South are welcome here."

Strider's voice. It comes from somewhere outside my room. Frowning, I pick myself up off the floor before striding over to the twin doors. I nudge them open as quietly as possible and, looking warily over my shoulder, slip out of the room and into the night. Almost immediately my eyes seek out another balcony to my right, and I jog over to it before peering out onto the land below. Two men occupy the pillared overlook to the right of me. One of them appears to be observing a painting on the far wall. His sandy blonde hair brushes across his shoulders as he turns to look at the other man. Strider.

"Who are you?" he inquires, his voice heavily accented. I recognize the slight tinge to his words; it is Gondorian accent. One of Elrond's many guests, here for the great meeting being held tomorrow afternoon. How curious.

Is that why Legolas is here, as well?

"I am a friend of Gandalf the Grey," Strider says plainly, fingering the book in his hands. The sandy haired man seems to relax a little.

"Then we are here on a common purpose…" He pauses. "Friend."

There is a certain air about the Gondorian man that puts me at unease. Strider, however, seems perfectly content to remain seated in his chair. He observes the blonde man with interest as the he strides over to a statue near the overlook's railing. In the stone elf's hands lie the broken remains of a large sword. It appears to have been snapped off near the base, and its metal shards are nestled careful on either side of it. Its jagged, needle-point tip glints maliciously.

"The shards of Narsil," exclaims the Gondorian. He grabs hold of the sword's hilt, his expression awed.

_Narsil, _I think. _The broken blade. The one Isuldir used to cleave off Sauron's finger that bore the Ring of Power. Here it lies, alas, in the halls of the elves._

The blonde man echoes my thoughts in his own words before sliding his fingertip down the tip of the blade. He winces slightly as blood wells up along the point of contact.

"Still sharp," he comments.

_Obviously._

He continues to look on at it before slowly turning his head towards Strider. Even from a distance, I can see fear in his eyes.

"But no more than a broken end." He drops the sword back on its pedestal, but the attempt is half-hearted, and the blade clatters down to the ground. The Gondorian pauses mid-stride, glances back once, before continuing on and disappearing into the shadows.

"Fool," I whisper spitefully. My annoyance is short-lived, however, as Strider rises from his chair and makes his way over to the fallen sword. He bends down to grasp its hilt and, with great care, returns it back to its proper place.

I am in the midst of admiring his respectability when I note another figure emerging from the left. It is a dark-harried elleth, clothed in a shimmering white dress. Her blue eyes gaze upon the man with an unreadable emotion.

"Why do you fear the past?" she asks, her voice as soft and light as silk. Strider doesn't bother to turn towards her and instead continues to gaze upon the remains of Narsil. The elleth comes to a stop behind him before continuing. "You are Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself."

I let out a short gasp. Strider is Isildur's heir? How can that be? My hands grip the railing as I lean forward, eager to hear what he has to say in response.

"The same blood flows through my veins," Strider says solemnly, turning to the elf. "The same weakness."

_He would disrespect his lineage because of Isildur's actions? _My heart twists softly. _Poor soul. And here I thought he was only a Ranger._

Having heard enough, I turn from the scene before venturing back into the dark confines of my room. My brow appears to have stopped bleeding, and with all my emotions relieved, I allow myself to fall upon the bed and sink into a long, dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>"Keira! Keira, I beg of you, rise!"<p>

My eyelids flutter open, one heavy with dried blood, the other puffy from tears. Blinking tiredly, I look up to find the face of Lindir hovering over me. His features are tight with worry.

"Lindir?" I say sleepily. "What is it?"

"Your face, it is covered with blood!"

"I cut myself, is that not obvious?"

"Yes, my lady, but the cut is very large."

Rolling my eyes, I sit up before grabbing hold of Lindir's arm and yanking him down beside me. "Lindir," I say, looking at him intently. "There is no need to mother me. I have lived out in the wilds for twenty years. I am capable of taking care of myself." Honestly, I'm quite surprised the elf didn't deem me a lunatic right then and there. Here I was, foggy-eyed and bloody, telling him to stop worrying about me. Bless him and his young innocence.

"If you insist," he says quietly. "But can I at least offer you a damp cloth to clean off the blood? And maybe a few herbs to stem the infection?"

"Go ahead." I squeeze his forearm before releasing him to go gather his supplies. Lying back once more, I allow my thoughts to drift from the kind elf to another, far more pressing matter. The council is to be held today, and as it is my job to protect the world from evil, then I might as well attend. For all I know, Elrond could be preparing to hand over the Ring to Sauron, and why that is quite unlikely, I need to be there to intervene if a situation arises. And if that means revealing me identity, so be it. All will know who I am when the final battle comes around.

Lindir returns only a few minutes later, bearing a wet rag and a cup. He kneels down beside me before taking the cloth and setting to work on cleaning my face. I don't bother asking to do it myself. Honestly, it's nice to have someone fuss over me every now and then, as it is nigh impossible to get any pampering out of Carca. The Breyta is as stubborn as a rock when it comes to sentimental things.

"I will leave within the hour," Lindir says suddenly. "Lord Elrond wishes to speak to me."

_And over a dozen other people._

"The Council is about to begin, isn't it?"

The elf's hand stays a bit, and he frowns at me.

"I'm not oblivious to the presence of the Ring, Lindir. I know what this meeting of yours will pertain to, despite your attempts at secrecy." I pause to take in a deep breath. "And I want in on it."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I want to be a part of Elrond's Council. If I already know so much about it, would it be such a change for me to join it?"

"The Council of Elrond is reserved only for the invited guests. Lord Elrond will make no exceptions."

I laugh, visualizing the elf lord's reaction if I revealed my true identity. "You really believe that?"

"I know that." Lindir slides the cloth from my face before handing me a leaf. "Chew this. It will help prevent infection." Grumbling, I allow him to place the leaf in my mouth. Almost as soon as my teeth bite down onto it, my mouth is filled with a horrible bitter taste. I gag slightly, and the elf chuckles.

"I must go to my Lord Elrond," Lindir says, getting to his feet. He eyes me warily before adding, "Stay here and rest."

"Absolutely," I say, smiling brightly. The elf takes a step towards the door before pausing. He reaches back and gently grasps my chin.

"And please, for the love of the Valar, don't try following me." On that note the elf gives me a pat on the cheek before turning and bustling out of the room. Almost as soon as he's out the door, a devilish smile spreads across my lips.

It's time for me to pay Elrond a little visit of my own.

* * *

><p><strong> So… how'd you like the new chapter? I know it was a bit depressing towards the middle, but I promise it will get better! Just stick with it, and you won't be disappointed! My chapters have begun to grow longer as time progresses… hope y'all don't mind! Oh, and I just thought I'd mention that the last chapter was based solely on book-verse (which is why Glorfindel was there instead of Arwen). I just really like Glorfindel's character and felt that I should include him in my story :) And also, the Boromir-Aragon conversation in this chapter is quoted from the movies. Everything else is my own work. And for those of you who are sad about Legolas and Keira's rather unpleasant reunion, don't give up on them yet. There's a lot more to come in the next chapters, so bear with me and my meanness. *insert evil laughter here*<strong>

**English to Elvish translator: Iston I nif gin - I know your face (or 'You are familiar to me')**

**Lastly, I'd like to give a big thank you to everyone who has recently read/favorited/followed/reviewed "The Wayward Shadow." Ilysm!**


	17. Decided

Hello again, my beautiful followers! I hope you all enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

><p>Following Lindir is not as easy as I thought.<p>

For starters, the elf's stride is long compared to my own, so I have to jog in order to keep up with him. Another difficultly is that I must be a minimal of ten feet behind him at all times in order to remain unnoticed. And, given that I am not always light of foot, that is not the easiest of tasks.

I growl quietly as Lindir detours into an archway and disappears down a flight of stairs. His footsteps are so soft that I can hardly hear them. Curse the elf. After a moment of stubborn hesitation I decide to go in after him.

I have made it down the first flight and am about to step onto the second when I hear a sharp 'psst' sound from somewhere behind me. Cringing, I slowly turn to look over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Lord Elrond towering over me. But, thank the Valar, it is not. Merry and Pippin stand at the arched entrance, waving for me to come back up.

"What?" I hiss out from between the gaps in my teeth.

"Get back up here, they'll see you!" cries Pippin. I roll my eyes before grudgingly making my way back up the stairs.

"Who do you think will see me?"

"The elves," answers Merry, looking around anxiously. "They're everywhere. You'll be found out if you go that way!"

"What if I want to be found out?"

Pippin gives a light laugh. "Well now, I guess that's your problem." The two cousins turn round in unison and proceed to stroll back down the square.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"The same place as you, I reckon," retorts Merry.

"_Specify!_" At hearing my slightly-crazed tone, the two cousins sigh before turning to look back at me.

Pippin is the first to speak. "We're going to the Council."

"If that is the case, why all the secrecy?"

"Erm, well, you see…we weren't exactly… invited."

A grin spreads across my lips. "Then our motives are the same, my friend. Would you mind if I tag along?" Pippin blinks and looks to Merry.

"Will she be too big to fit behind the pillars?"

"I have not the slightest clue!"

The hobbits exchange a rather long whispered conversation before glancing back at me.

"You can come," says Merry, "but only if you swear to remain hidden. We can't have Lord Elrond finding us out, or he'll want to send us back to the Shire! Not that he'd succeed, of course."

I laugh before ruffling his curly hair, causing a furious blush to glow to life on his cheeks. "Don't worry. I will do no such thing."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

* * *

><p>When the hobbits and I arrive, the meeting has yet to begin. The council ground is eerily silent, though there are more than twenty people residing in the chairs surrounding it. The occasional trilling of birds is the only thing to be heard as the two cousins scurry behind two pillars, with me following close behind. We are only a mere ten feet or so from the gathering; if but one man, dwarf, or elf were to see us, it would be all over.<p>

_That is, if they could handle my magic, _I think smugly.

"Come on, then!" says Pippin, yanking at my sleeve. I oblige quickly and crouch down beside him. I peer out from the pillar, scanning over the ground, before my eyes drift onto the one that has troubled me for so many years.

Legolas.

With several of his kin sitting by at his side, the blonde elf should appear at ease. But, much to my sorrow and dismay, he is not. The Prince's face is tight, strained by an unreadable emotion. Though he is a considerable distance away from me, I find myself analyzing the look of despair hidden beneath his porcelain features. He has attempted to mask it with a soft expression of annoyance, but it is as see-through as a pane of glass. My heart aches to comfort him, even after our brief but cold encounter yesterday. After all, it was my actions that brought such anger upon him.

"Look, it's starting!" exclaims Merry, face beaming with curiosity, and we watch as Lord Elrond rises from his seat.

"Strangers from distant lands," begins the elf. "Friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." The dark-haired elf turns around and gestures to somebody. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

I watch as the dark-hobbit slowly rises from his seat before striding over to the small pedestal near the center of the circle. The golden object is clasped between his fingers. A low hiss seems to emanate from the Ring as Frodo reaches up and places it on the stone plinth. An audible gasp ripples about the company, and the men begin to speak in hushed whispers. The longer I stare at the evil device, the more rasped voices begin to fill my ears. They speak in fell, evil tongues, and I see Legolas narrow his eyes slightly.

_He hears them, too, _I think. _The Ring is calling to all of them._

Tentatively, I reach out towards the Prince with my mind, stroking his subconscious with invisible fingers. The mind-touch is subtle enough for him not to notice my presence, but powerful enough to relieve him of some of the agony of the Ring's foul tongue. Being a Were-rider, I have been trained how to combat its evil; Legolas, however, has not.

_It's the least I can do. He has already been through enough turmoil as it is._

"So it is true."

The voice belongs to a Gondorian man, the blond one I overheard talking to Strider the night before. I frown upon noticing the hungry glint in his eyes. The man rises abruptly as he turns to look at the rest of the group.

"In a dream," he begins, gaze straying to the Ring. "I saw the Eastern sky grow dark. In the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, 'your doom is near at hand.' Isildur's bane is found." Throughout his speech the man has begun to move towards the pedestal on which the Ring lies. I feel chills of dread begin to creep down my spine, and Elrond casts a worried look to a man in grey. No, not a man. It is the wizard Gandalf, judging by his robes and staff. I watch now as the Gondorian stretches his hand towards the Ring, fingers longing to feel the coldness of its beautiful and wicked surface.

"Boromir!" shouts Elrond.

"So that is his name," I whisper, glaring at him. "Boromir. A man so weak as to be taken by the Ring at the mere sight of it."

Suddenly, the grey-cloaked wizard rises from his seat, face tight with anger. The sky darkens dramatically and, within in a matter of moments, an enormous shadow has befallen the gathering. The Istari opens his mouth, and from his lips come a cracked and booming voice unlike anything that I have ever heard.

"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul."

One of the dwarves lets out a shout, and Boromir begins to back away from the pedestal.

"Ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."

All the elves, Legolas and Elrond included, appear to be in great pain. The elf Prince has closed his eyes, whereas Lord Elrond has taken to placing a hand on his forehead. Frodo follows suit in a similar manner, blue eyes filled with pain.

_It is speaking to him. It wishes to corrupt him._

Squeezing my eyes shut, I let my consciousness flow out to touch his mind as I did Legolas. This time, however, my powers have no effect. My entity itself is blocked by a wall so tall and thick that it is nigh impossible to break through it. I try every possible way; I search for cracks, holes, even scratches in its surface. Anything that might give me entrance to his mind in order to relieve some of the pain. I skim through memories, miniscule snippets of his life that might prove to be the breaking point of the barrier. But it is to no avail, and I withdraw with a gasp.

"Are you alright?" asks Merry. I look over to see the ginger-haired hobbit observing me with a worried look.

"Fine," I say, but I can't bring myself to look at him.

No sooner has the wizard uttered the fell tongue than the darkness has lifted, and sunlight has returned to bask the gathering in its warm glow. Though it is obvious that some members have yet to retain their former composure, mainly Frodo.

"Never before has anyone uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris," says Elrond, his features frozen in place with shock and anger.

Gandalf does not beg for pardon, but instead says that Black Speech may soon be heard in every corner of the world. He finishes with, "The Ring is altogether evil," aiming a pointed look at Boromir. Stubborn to a fault, the Gondorian refuses to be called down.

"It is a gift!" he exclaims, getting to his feet once more.

_Oh, here we go again._

"A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?" Boromir saunters about the circle, addressing each and every soul present. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the bloodof our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy, let us use it against him!"

"Steward?" I scoff. "He thinks that is something to be proud off?"

"Shh!" says Pippin. "They'll hear you!"

"Do I look like I care?"

"You promised, Keira!"

I huff. He's right. I can't intervene. Not right now, anyway.

"You cannot wield it," states Strider firmly. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

Boromir shoots him a condescending look. "And what would a Ranger know of this matter?"

Legolas stands up to intervene, but there is no need. Angered at the blond man's disrespect, I extend out my hand and send a gust of wind slamming straight into his chest. Boromir gasps before being thrown back into his chair. Someone gasps. Merry and Pippin turn to look at me in awe.

"Did you do that?" they ask in unison. I don't reply. All my focus is directed towards Legolas as he opens his mouth to speak.

"This is no mere Ranger!" says the elf fiercely. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You own him your allegiance."

Brushing himself off, Boromir stands and turns towards Strider.

"Aragorn? This… is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," growls the elf.

Strider raises a hand. "Havo dad, Legolas."

_What is he, a dog? You think you can order him around, Strider? Ha, I'd like to see that hap…_

My thoughts careen of track when the elf sits back down obediently, though his eyes remain ablaze with fury. An emotion rises up within me that I haven't felt in a very long time. Jealousy.

_Since when did Legolas let _me _order him around?_

_He only knew you for a month, _pipes a small voice in my mind. _Why would he want to listen to you?_

"Gondor has no king," says Boromir, rudely interrupting my argument with myself. He shoots a scathing glance at Legolas. "Gondor needs no king."

"Aragorn is right," says Gandalf. "We cannot use it."

"You have only one choice." It's Elrond speaking now. "The Ring must be destroyed."

"Then what are we waiting for?" says a red-headed dwarf, hoisting up his war-axe. He rises from his seat and bustles over to the pedestal.

_Don't do it. Oh Valar, please don't…_

Ignoring my wise advice, the dwarf raises the weapon high over his head before bringing the blade down upon the golden object. The axe head shatters as soon as it makes contact with the Ring, sending the burly lad flying back several feet. He hits the ground with a dull thud and an indignant roar. I could swear that there is the faintest of smiles on Legolas's lips.

An amused expression flickers across Lord Elrond's features. "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." He pauses. "One of you... must do this."

The silence that follows Elrond's ominous statement is long and thick. So silent, in fact, that the hobbits and I are forced to quiet our breathing so not to be heard. Frodo shifts uneasily, and Gandalf purses his lips.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor," says Boromir eventually, rubbing his forehead. "Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the great Eye is ever watchful. Tis' a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this." He shakes his head. "It is folly."

_You would dare call Lord Elrond's wishes _folly?

Legolas is back on his feet.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" he cries. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

Now it's Gimli's turn to speak. "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?"

_Valar, give me strength…_

"And if we fail, what then?" Boromir stands. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

The fiery dwarf leaps to his feet. "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!"

Both elves and men leap up from their seats, the Wood-elves backing Legolas, the Gondorians Boromir. The Prince extends out an arm to prevent one of his kin from advancing on the man. The once peaceful landscape is filled with shouting and bickering, and I feel my hands curls into fists.

"Never trust an elf!" barks Gimli.

"Alright, that's it!" I hiss. Blood boiling with rage, I press my fingers into my temples and give a silent call to Carca, making sure to include a mental picture of the council's location.

"_What is it?" _he replies, voice vibrating in my ears.

"_You must come, Carca. Things are about to get out of hand!"_

"_And why would that be?"_

"_Just… stop talking, and come to me."_

Not a moment later, a whistling hum sounds above me. Looking up, I watch as Carca alights on the roof of the house above me. His golden eyes scour the group, and he frowns slightly. Rolling my eyes, I snap my fingers. Carca's ears perk, and his gaze drifts down before settling on me. I frantically gesture for him to come down. The Breyta nods and, silent as a midnight breeze, drops down beside me. Merry and Pippin gasp slightly, bustling quickly away from him.

"What are you doing?" Pippin asks. "I thought you said that you were keeping him a secret!"

Stroking Carca's ears, and I look over at them and smile. "He's just here in case I need him."

"Seems like quite the argument," comments the Breyta, eyeing me carefully. "Do you plan on intervening?"

"What other choice to I have?"

"Not to do this."

I elbow him hard in the neck, and the dark wolf bristles indignantly as he continues. "You plan on revealing your identity, do you not?"

"The purpose of this meeting was to find someone to destroy the Ring. Why not give it to us?"

"Lots of reasons. For starters, we need you in optimum health by the time the final battle comes around. The Ring would do nothing but wear you down."

"Celeb trained me how to block its powers."

"That does not mean that you are fit enough to attempt such a feat, Keira. Let one of them take it; let them bear this burden for us. Our purpose is to protect them on their journey, not to lead it." Having gotten his point across, Carca looks back to the squabbling group.

"Fine, you win," I say with a slight eye roll. The Breyta chuckles darkly before, suddenly, he goes completely still. "Valar forbid."

"What?" I ask, attempting to follow his gaze. "What is it?"

Without warning, the Breyta whips around to face me head on, golden eyes aflame with anger. "You little _liar_!"

"What are you talking about, Carca?" My companion snarls and shoves me backwards with his muzzle. My heel catches on a loose cobblestone, and I fall back with a hollow yelp. I narrowly miss crackling my head open on the pool. Hackles raises, Carca grabs my waist in his mouth and slinks over to the stairwell to my right.

"What in tarnation are you doing?" I screech, but my voice falls on deaf ears. Not even the Fellowship seems to hear me. My companion growls and bites down harder. I wince as his fangs threaten to puncture my skin. One more ounce of pressure and I would be skewered through like a fish.

And, judging by the Breyta's raging temper, that might not be too far off.

The wolf carries me up the stairs and, upon reaching the top, spreads his wings and launches into the air. A scream of terror escapes my lips as Carca glides down over the city. He appears to be searching for something. He banks slightly to the left, the gentle breeze providing us with an easy flight, and for a moment I find myself thinking that maybe he is simply taking me back to my room.

That thought is gone is an instant when the Breyta opens his jaws and sends me plummeting down a good fifteen feet. My stomach leaps into my throat, along with a garbled scream. Then, just when I think that I might never feel the ground against, I land face-first in a mangrove tree right smack dab in the center of Rivendell's courtyard. I tumble through several branches, wincing as the rough bark scraps my arms, before coming to rest on one of the sturdier lower limbs. Carca sets down directly in front of me, fangs bared and gleaming.

"It's because of _him, _isn't it?" he bites. "You want to join this little quest of theirs because of _him." _

All at once I understand the meaning of Carca's words. He's talking about Legolas. Can the Breyta really think that I am going to volunteer to go on this mission because of… him? Does he really think that I am not fully aware of the consequences of this quest?

"N-no!" I cry, spitting out a mouthful of leaves. "It's been twenty years, Carca. All bonds of friendship were broken a long time ago."

"I'm not talking about friendship, Keira." The dark warrior proceeds to pace back and forth. "I know your feelings for the elf. I have known them ever since you left him in Mirkwood all those years ago. Your heart longs to be with him, and this quest might just give you that chance."

"It pains me that you think so lowly of me, my friend."

Carca relaxes slightly as he looks up at me, our noses almost touching. His eyes burn into me like twin suns, intense and pure.

"Keira, if you are lying to me, than I will not hesitate to remove you from this situation altogether." He lets out a sigh. "But, if you are telling the truth, which I have to assume you are, than I will follow through with your requests."

"Oh Carca, thank y—"

My grateful reply is cut short as the branch beneath me gives way, and I fall atop of him with a squeal of surprise. The wolf lets out a yowl in return as he struggles to bear my sudden weight.

"Come on," I grunt, righting myself as best I can atop the saddle. "Back to the Council!"

"As you…wish."

* * *

><p>By the time Carca and I arrive back at the meeting area, it appears that an agreement has been settled. The Breyta perches on the rooftop, providing us with a very nice vantage point of the group.<p>

"—will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," I hear Gandalf say, and I watch as he comes to stand beside the young hobbit. "As long as it is yours to bear."

Aragorn rises from his seat. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." He strides over to Frodo and kneels before him. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow." The voice belongs to Legolas. His face is solemn yet kind as he goes to take his place among the newly formed company. Carca stiffens beneath me, and a snarl rises up from within his throat. His ears lie flat with distrust.

"And _my _axe!" rumbles the burly dwarf, Gimli. The Prince looks on in disapproval before turning his gaze to Lord Elrond.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one," says Boromir, stepping up to him. "If this is indeed the will of the council, than Gondor will see it done."

"Now, Carca," I whisper. "Drop me down." The Breyta extends one of his midnight wings and allows me to crawl down from his back and onto its smooth surface. The feathers are slippery, allowing me to slide down them with ease. The ground is not too far below me, and I am able to leap down with ease.

"Call me when it is time," says Carca. I blink in agreement, and the wolf hesitates for a moment.

"Go on," I tell him, and with that he is off. Rising up soundlessly into the sky like a falcon on the hunt. Beautiful and deadly.

Dusting myself off, I manage to tear my eyes off of his retreating form as I emerge from the cover of the trees. My heart pitter-pats in my chest, and I take a deep breath before striding up to the group.

"Good Council," I say, my voice as smooth and sweet as honey. Every pair of eyes turns to look at me. "I would like to volunteer my services to aid in this quest." I glance to Legolas as he stands patiently behind Frodo. His blue gaze is filled with fire.

"Keira," says Elrond, his tone dangerously soft. "You do not have to do this. Go back."

"Go back?" I arrive at the top of the stairs and, striding into the center of the circle, cross my arms over my chest. "I will not go back. My purpose in this life is to aid with the destruction of all things evil, the Ring being among them."

"Nonsense!" snarls Boromir. "What place have you among us? I was not told that a woman was to be a part of this!"

"She's wasn't supposed to be," says Lindir meekly.

"Well then, lassie," says the red-headed dwarf. "What I suspect you don't understand is that this mission could very well be the end of us all. We wouldn't want a pretty lass like you getting carried away by the Orcs!" Legolas glances over at him sharply. Is that jealously I see in his eyes?

"Orcs do not frighten me," I reply simply. "Nor does the fear of death haunt my mind. I have prepared for the oncoming war for twenty years." My gaze drifts to the Prince. "At great cost."

"She's lying!" bellows another dwarf. "Sure as daylight!"

"Silence!"

The courtyard goes abruptly quiet as Gandalf steps around the group and makes his way towards me. His grey eyes are filled with a kind and ancient wisdom.

"What is your name, my dear?" he asks, fingering his wooden staff.

"Keira, but to many I am known by a different title."

"An old one, at that. One that has been used before, but by a different bearer." Gandalf squints slightly before brushing a strand of hair back from my collarbone, revealing the white scars where Lypta fangs met with my skin. His eyes widen.

"Impossible."

"I have reclaimed a title once thought to be lost in the recesses of time." I extend my hand and transfer a small portion of my energy into it. My palm begins to glow just as a large orb of white light appears above it. It sparks and hisses, flaming brightly with magic. "I am the Were-rider, leader of the Chosen Ones. I have spent the last twenty years searching for the remainder of the Breyta Riders. Evil beings known as the Lypta were thought to have slaughtered my warrior kin long ago, but they failed. The broken remnants of the Chosen Ones escaped their clutches and lived out the remainders of their lives in hiding. The Valar chose me and the others many years ago to fulfill our appointed tasks. I was commanded to be their leader. My purpose was to find and unite the new generation of Breyta Riders for the battle to come." My gaze wanders to Aragorn. "A battle that shall determine all of our fates. And when that time comes, I will fend off the forces of evil be it by my own life."

"Your scars," says Frodo. "How did you get them?"

"They are from a battle long ago," is all I say. Legolas avoids my gaze, and much to my surprise, Gandalf chuckles.

"Now here's a sight I never thought I'd see. The return of the Were-rider, highest ranking of the Chosen Ones, servant of the Valar." He squints at me. "Where is your companion?"

I smile and look to the sky. "You can come down now, Carca."

At first there is nothing but the sound of distant bell chimes, but then I hear the whistling sound of wind over wings that signals his arrival. Moments later, Carca's silhouette appears through the clouds. Someone gasps.

"Don't let him frighten you," I say. "For unlike the Lypta, Carca is of pure blood." My eyes shine with pride as the massive creature glides down and lands beside me with a powerful boom. "He is one of the Breyta." Carca tosses his black mane and flexes his wings before tucking them against his sides. There is a smug smile on his lips.

"Greetings," he rumbles.

The silence that resonates is so thick that you could hear a fly's breath.

"Flying wolves," mumbles Gimli. "Now I've seen it all."

"Hardly, master dwarf," I retort. "There are many other things in this world aside from the Breyta that have yet to come out of hiding. Evil things like the Lypta, wretched enough to keep me awake at night for fear of falling prey to them." My eyes take on a distant look as I turn to look at Elrond. "I'm sorry for keeping my identity hidden, but there was no other way. If I had been overheard by unfriendly ears, the Lypta might be informed of our location. Sauron's hounds have a pack mentality; they would come in a great swarm, as there are dozens of them roaming the land of Arda."

"Do not bother yourself with apologies," says the elf lord, his grey gaze soft. "You may well be our beacon of hope during the coming storm, and because of that, I can hardly think to decline your wishes."

"Thank you, my lord." Gesturing for Carca to follow, I stride forward before taking my place among the company. The Breyta eyes the group carefully, scrutinizing each and every one of them. It isn't long until his golden gaze travels to Legolas. His normally round pupils narrow into thin, serpentine slits, and he bares his fangs. The elf does not flinch but instead sets his jaw; stubborn and fearless, even in the presence of a creature as mighty as Carca. The dark wolf sidles up next to me, his neck barely brushing against my shoulder.

"Oi!" cries a voice. I turn around to see Sam burst out from a hedge of bushes. His curly hair bounces as he runs to join his dark-haired friend. "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me!"

Elrond smiles. "No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." The elf's eyes twinkle as he speaks, and I feel my hand lift up and come to rest on Sam's shoulder. The stocky hobbit looks up at me questioningly, and I wink at him and mouth, "Good lad." I then look out to the pillars and see two shaggy heads pop out from either side of them.

"Wait! We're coming too!" yelps Merry. The elf lord's eyebrows shoot straight up as the two hobbits run over to us. "You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!"

"Bound in chains, no doubt," I add with a smirk.

"Anyway," says Pippin, face beaming with pride. "You need people of intelligence on this sort of mission… quest… thing."

Merry leans in to whisper in his ear. "Well that rules you out, Pip."

I snort loudly, moving the other members of the company to cast me strange looks. My neck tingles as I feel Legolas's blue gaze boring into me.

_If you are to perform to your abilities, you cannot let him affect you_.

Lord Elrond looks to the group before him with a slightly awe-struck expression. "Eleven companions. So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

Pippin smiles brightly. "Great! Where are we going?"

Sam and Frodo chuckle darkly, and Carca swings his head around to look at me. His eyes are questioning.

"_No turning back now,"_ I think to him.

"_No indeed," _he replies. Something about his tone, even in my mind, sends a trill of fear down my spine, and I stroke his fur absentmindedly. So at last, the time comes for the Were-rider to rise again.

And still my heart longs for nothing more than to go back to how life was before.

* * *

><p>The moon is the only light bright enough to penetrate the darkness that overlays the land. The other stars remain veiled by the cloud cover that descends over Rivendell. An ominous tone seems to have fallen upon the city; the dwarves can no longer be heard laughing and drinking in the banquet halls. The men are quiet as they roam the streets, conversing only in hushed whispers. Even the elves are not quite as pleasant as usual. Their songs have changed from welcoming verses to sad serenades.<p>

The curved couch on which I recline overlooks a large part of the city. Sweet fragrances from the flowers lining the balcony fill my nose, but I cannot enjoy them. My mind is somewhere far away as I gaze up at the night sky, listening to the rhythmic sound of Carca's heart beating beside me. His wing is draped over me out of habit, even though the position seems uncomfortable and awkward. My fingers rap along the tall glass in my hand, sending ripples through the surface of the red wine.

"I wish you could be here to see this, Father," I say. "To see where I am now; to lay your eyes upon the glory of Rivendell in the moonlight. You would love it." I take a sip from the glass, cringing at the fermented liquid's bitter taste. It has been over five years since I've last tasted wine; honestly, I didn't miss it all that much. But here, in this moment, I allow it to set my mind to a warm and pleasant calm. Anything to tame my wild thoughts.

"I'm sure your father would be very proud of you."

Startled, I look to the side to see a figure standing near the entrance to the room. He is cloaked in silver robes, but even in the dim light I can make out a pair of grey eyes gazing back at me.

"My lord Elrond," I whisper, carefully pushing Carca's wing off of me. Slinging my legs over one end of the couch, I get to my feet and make my way over to him. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"As you are the Were-rider, I would be moved to ask you the same." The elf looks deeply into my eyes. "I foresaw what you would become, Keira. Long ago, before you were even born. You will play an important role in this quest."

"If that is so, then why did you not invite me?"

"You are an inquisitive girl; I knew you would show up sooner or later. I took it upon myself to allow you to come at your own terms."

I raise an eyebrow. "That's a strange way to go about it."

Elrond sighs. "Keira, there were multiple reasons why I did not tell you of the meeting, one of which being that I did not wish to involve you in such matters."

"I'm one of the Chosen. My duty is to destroy the wicked things in the world. You know this."

"But you are also a girl." The elf lord reaches forward and gently takes hold of my wrist. His hand is warm, and I find myself drawn further into his gaze. "I saw what became of the last being to bear your title, and because of that I worry for you."

"I do not fear death, my lord."

"You are brave, yet something tells me that you have yet to see the true horror that lies in this world. The land of Mordor is rotten and corrupted by Sauron's dark powers. I would not wish such an evil upon anyone, much less you."

My gaze falls down to the silver brooch holding together his robes, and I blink slowly. "In truth, I once was scared of many things. Heights, dark places, even wolves at one time. Becoming the Were-rider has freed me of the bonds of fear." Elrond's face seems to glow in the moonlight, and for a moment all I can see are his eyes, clear and soft. "All that scares me now is the thought of failing the Valar."

"I never should have doubted you," he says lowly. "If it weren't for my arrogance, your father might still be alive to guide you. I should have accepted him into Imladris."

"It wasn't your fault. For all you know, Byron could have been just like Isildur, weak and corruptible. There was no way for you to know his heart." Elrond looks down, shadowing his face from my view. I frown, and after a moment of silence I whisper "Elrond." My emotions take over me, and I lean forward and wrap my arms around his waist. I hesitate slightly before pressing my cheek into his neck. "It's not your fault. Byron's death would have come sooner or later. He was only mortal."

"He was also your father."

A silence falls over the room as Rider and elf embrace each other, allowing our hearts a moment of serenity. Because with the coming of the morn, serenity will be something of the past. Nothing more than a memory.

After a long moment, I hear Elrond's voice in my ear. "There is someone else here to see you." I pull back with a frown. My eyes search his for an explanation, delving deep into their stormy depths. The elf simply extends an arm to the archway. My gaze trails down his arm, then onto his palm, before coming to rest on another figure. An elleth. She is dressed in a gown of deep blue, matching the shade of the midnight sky. Long, curly hair falls down her shoulders in rich waves of ebony, framing a softly angular face and a pair of intense green eyes. A name, foreign yet familiar, escapes my lips.

"Faelwen."

Elrond steps to the side to allow me passage to the she-elf. My heart skips a beat as I rush forward into her outstretched arms. Faelwen welcomes my embrace with a soft cry, and I feel tears spring into my eyes. "Mother, I'm so sorry. I was so… so cruel to you when last I was here. Please forgive me."

"My dear daughter," she whispers, holding me tightly. "Do not apologize. You are so brave to have taken this burden upon yourself. To be called the Were-rider is to accept an immense responsibility." My temple presses into her dark hair, and I feel a tear spill out over my cheek.

"I wanted to come see you. To come apologize. But my instructor, Celeb, would not allow it. She said that it would be breaking the code."

"Then it is a good thing that you didn't." The she-elf presses her temple into my own. "I, too, wished to see you. It took everything that I had within me not to go out and search for you." Faelwen leans back to look me in the eye. "Now here you are, grown and beautiful. You have your father's smile." She gazes fondly at me before looking over to Carca. "Your companion has taken very good care of you."

"He has. Sometimes I think that Carca knows me better than I know myself."

Faelwen smiles and blinks at me. "I'm glad. You deserve no less." She places a hand on my face. "Sleep now, my daughter. I came only to say farewell."

"I will come back to you," I say, my voice catching slightly. "Just like I went back to find Antiel."

Faelwen looks surprised. "You saw your sister?"

"I did, but only for a brief time. Our meeting took place not two days before I became the Were-rider."

_And two days before I let go of the only friend that I had ever known._

My gaze shifts to Elrond. "Thank you, my lord, for allowing me to see her."

The dark-haired elf nods to me and whispers something to Faelwen. She nods solemnly before casting one last look at me. Her green eyes are filled with sorrow, but also love.

"May the Valar bless the path that lies ahead of you, my daughter."

And with that she is gone.

* * *

><p>Thin rays of sunlight have just begun to creep out from the horizon by the time I come to the following morning. Carca is already awake; he has a habit of watching the sunrise. It calms him, the sight of the sky glowing to life. It gives him hope that light can still dawn over a world that has been taken by wickedness. A gentle breeze ruffles through his feathers as he stands upon the balcony, ears swiveling at every sound.<p>

Yawning loudly, I sit up and stretch out my arms and legs. I give a sigh of relief as the stiffness of sleep begins to leave my limbs.

"A beautiful day dawns upon us," I say, sliding off the couch and coming to stand beside the Breyta. Carca does not respond and instead continues to stare out at the land before us. His eyes are clouded with an unreadable emotion. Sighing lowly, I reach out and place a hand on his neck. "You are troubled, my friend. What is wrong?"

"I informed Celeb of your decision," he replies curtly, closing his eyes. "Her mind is very troubled, as are the other Riders. They do not like the idea of being left without their leader."

"But they do have their leader! The fellowship will most likely take a road through the Misty Mountains to get to Mordor. We can then meet up with the others."

"I very much doubt that."

"Why?"

"The Lypta," he says, fangs bared. "Their foul air draws closer to our stronghold in the mountains. If we were to attempt direct contact with the Riders, we would be discovered."

"It's bound to happen sooner or later. With our combined forces, we would be able to take them out."

"I'm not so sure." The Breyta's eyes take on a hollow look. "Celeb gave me a mind picture of their new form. She saw several of them passing by the cliff not two days past. We were correct in assuming their new form. They have shifted to look like golden dragons, averaging at about the size of a draft horse. However, Celeb said that they are growing every day, and with that new growth will come more strength and more firepower. We cannot risk the wrath of the dragons so close to the Cave. If the Chosen Ones were to lose the battle, the Riders would be decimated." Carca glances over at me. "We are but two beings. Not even our powers combined could take out such a large number of them. The Riders need more training; right now our only goal is to buy them as much time as possible." The Breyta lets out a long, ragged sigh. "We must soon take leave of Rivendell to avoid being noticed by them."

"Lord Elrond told us to meet him in the courtyard near the western side of the city at a quarter to six." I squint out into the golden sky. "It is already past five 'o'clock. We've overslept."

"You need your strength, Keira."

"Well I don't want to be groggy, either!"

Carca snorts. "I have a feeling that your tiredness will diminish when the time comes for us to depart."

_Hopefully, _I think, striding back into the room. An elf maid must have laid out my clothes during the night, as there is now a pair of forest green leggings, a matching top, and a tan leather riding vest resting atop the covers. I run my fingers along the soft fabric and slip my night gown from my shoulders.

Once I am dressed, I make my way down Rivendell's winding streets before arriving at the banquet hall. No noise can be heard coming down the corridors. Instead, a heavy silence seems to have fallen on the place. The long table in the center of the room hosts all of the races. Wood-elves on one side, men, dwarves, and hobbits on the other.

Swallowing hard, I make it my goal to step into the room as quietly as possible. At first it seems to be going well. My boots hardly make a sound, as the floor is made of stone.

_Maybe this won't be so bad, after all._

Then, just as I have almost entered without being noticed, my foot catches on a pebble. The small rock skids across the ground before clanking noisily into the far wall. The elves crane their necks towards the doorway. Upon seeing me, some avert their gaze, while others continue to stare as I make my way over to the table, head held high despite my unease. My heart is beating so loudly that I fear that they might hear it.

By the time I come to stand in front of the dining table, all eyes have turned to me. I open my mouth to speak just as an enormous wave of nausea sweeps over me. How can I bring myself to sit here with them? Look at them. They're frightened. They're scared of you. To them, you are nothing but a…

My thoughts are interrupted when a strong hand clamps around my arm. I give a small gasp as I am dragged away from the center of the room and over to a separate table, near a large balcony. Something brushes against my ear.

"You would not want to sit there," a hard voice whispers. There is steel threaded into the words, yet it harbors a familiar tone that I recognize immediately.

_What in the name of the Valar, Legolas?_

The elf releases me, and I look up at him questioningly. His blue eyes flicker down to the chair beside me. "Sit." Frowning, I follow through with his command. My green gaze pulls at his own, daring him to explain himself. The Prince does no such thing. Instead, I watch as he gives a brisk nod before returning to where his own kin reside. The Wood-elves stare daggers into me, eyes wide with bewilderment. A fierce blush comes over my cheeks.

"Hello there, my dear."

I whip my head around and am surprised to find none other than Gandalf sitting in the seat before me. The wizard chuckles at my startled reaction. His long grey beard, sparsely streaked with white, brushes against the table top as he does so.

"A beautiful morning, is it not?"

"It is," I reply stiffly.

Gandalf seems to sense my discomfort, and the humor in his eyes dims down considerably. "What Legolas did for you was a favor. You should be grateful, as I very much doubt that you would have fit in with the others." I glance over at Boromir and pull a face.

"You're right, but that still does not give him the right to treat me in such a manner. I am the Were-rider, not some wayward child."

"Perhaps not now, but what of all those years past?" I blink, confused. Mithrandir quickly fills me in. "Several of the Wood-elves told me of your story. Twenty years ago you were found lost and injured near Mirkwood's eastern borders. The elves took you in, as there was no other place for you to go."

"Yes there was. Before the Orcs found me I had been living in the Brown Plains. If the elves had any sense at all, they would have taken me back there instead of bringing my sorry hide to the Palace."

"The elves of Mirkwood saw something in you, Keira. Beneath the youth of your appearance was something much greater."

"What was it, then?"

"Potential." His grey eyes twinkle mischievously. "I did not have the pleasure of meeting you before you bore the title of Were-rider, but something tells me that you were not so different from who you are now."

I laugh. "You are quite wrong. Time has changed me in too many ways to number. If you saw who I was back then, you would not recognize me as the same person."

A blonde elleth comes up to me and placing a plate of food on the table. I smile and thank her before turning back to Gandalf. The old wizard is watching my carefully.

"Do you find yourself truly prepared for what lies ahead?" he asks. I deliberately ignore his question. How am I supposed to answer it? Conflicted, I settle on looking down at my breakfast. It consists of a loaf of round bread, a small salad, and a cup of spices. I pick up the bread and break it in half, breathing in its buttery scent.

"I myself fear the most for the hobbits," continues the wizard, glancing over to where the halflings reside at the end of the long table. "Especially Frodo. This quest might be asking too much of him." His gaze softens as he looks at the hobbit. Unlike his fellow kin, Frodo does not speak. I take a bite of bread, watching him all the while. His fingers drum along a brown scabbard hanging from his side. Someone gave him a sword. _Why _did someone give him a sword? As far as I know, he barely knows how to wield one. I raise an eyebrow and am just about to look away when I see Sam whisper something in his ear. Frodo nods and leans over to reply. As he does so, I catch a glint of a silver chain hanging from his neck. Curious, my eyes flicker down and settle on the small gold object that it suspends. The sweet loaf turns to ash in my mouth, and I turn away sharply.

"He has made it this far," I say lowly, swallowing the bitter taste, "Frodo is stronger than he looks. I felt the evil that festered in the wound the Ringwraiths gave to him. Many would not have survived such an encounter for as long as he."

Gandalf nods, sighing shakily, and the remainder of breakfast is spent in silence.

* * *

><p>"The Ringbearer is setting out on the quest to Mount Doom. You who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will."<p>

Lord Elrond's voice is solemn as he addresses the company. Carca shuffles uneasily beside me, moving Legolas to cast a glance at him. Almost as soon as the Breyta and I arrive in the courtyard, a crackling tension arose between us and several members of the Fellowship. Boromir especially, judging by the distrustful looks he has aimed at my companion. Gandalf and the hobbits seem to remain perfectly fine, however, and I find myself becoming thankful for the faith the old wizard seems to have bestowed upon me. Even Sam's pony, Bill, seems relatively at ease with the wolf.

The elf lord continues with a sigh. "Farewell. Hold to your purpose and may the blessings of each race…" He looks to Legolas, then to Boromir, then Gimli, before finally meeting my gaze. "And the protection of the Valar's chosen go with you." Elrond raises a graceful hand, and I feel a lump form in my throat. This is most likely the last time I will see him. My gaze then angles over to a fair elleth with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Arwen, daughter of Elrond. It must be. Their features are very similar, from sloping cheekbones to pale skin. The she-elf nods to someone beside me, and I look over to see Strider return the gesture with a smile. I cock my head slightly.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer," says Gandalf. Frodo pauses momentarily before, slowly, turning around to look at the company. Much to my shock, his face shows no fear. The air about him is very reserved as he makes his way out into the path that winds out of Rivendell and into the wilds of the world. As he passes me by, I take hold of his hand. Frodo pauses and gazes up at me sorrowfully.

"If ever you find yourself separated from me, use this." I slip something into his palm. A small square pendant, last bore by one of my Riders that fell prey to the Lypta on their hunt. "Speak the runes engraved into its sides, and help will come." The hobbit nods to me gratefully before continuing on. The rest of the Fellowship follow suit, but Carca and I do not move. Merry and Pippin have only made it a few steps when I hear one of them ask, "What about Keira? She's coming too, isn't she?"

The group looks back at me, and I wave them along.

"Go on ahead." I smile and point to the sky. "I prefer aerial travel whenever I can help it." Carca flexes his wings to emphasize my point. Boromir sneers distrustfully, and I narrow my eyes.

"Mordor, Gandalf," I hear a small voice say. Frodo's. "Is it left or right?"

"Left," replies the wizard, placing a hand on his shoulder. The group then files out one after another, first Frodo, then Gandalf, with the rest close behind. Strider, however, pauses before following after them. He looks once more at the fair she-elf; it is a longing glance, full of sadness and love. I sympathize with him as he turns and follows after the others. The elleth blinks several times, fighting back tears.

"I will protect them," I say, addressing the elves, "By all the good grace of the Valar I swear that they will come back to you."

"You do not have to make such promises," Elrond says.

"It is an oath, my lord. An oath that I swear to keep." I swallow hard. "Farewell."

The elf nods to me as I turn around to face Carca.

"You ready?" I ask.

"The journey ahead is long, but it is one that I am willing to take." Hands shaking, I grab onto the horn of the saddle and sling a leg over his back.

"Then let us be gone."

The Breyta spreads his wings to their full extent before letting out a yowl and rocketing up into the air. The wind screams past my face as we rise out of the courtyard and high into the sky. Carca's fur shines as red as flame in the sun's glow as he descends into a tight spiral through the clouds. The Fellowship members appear to be nothing more than specks of dust as this height, and I can only imagine what their faces might look like. The thought itself makes me laugh.

_And so, on the chilly morning of December the 25th, the Fellowship of the Ring begins our long journey. A mad one, yes, but a necessary one._ _The hearts of all are filled with doubt, Frodo's especially, but with that doubt comes a much more improbable thing. A stray spark that might just help set ablaze something far more powerful than any enemy we have yet to face._

Hope.

* * *

><p>Welp, there you have it! Not just ten members, but eleven instead! A lot of the Fanfictions I read are Tenth Walker, and I love that, but I just felt like throwing in a bit of a curveball. But don't worry, the story is going to differ from the films in a lot of places (but please don't kill me if I throw in a couple of lines from the movies andor books in later chapters). In this chapter, however, the Council of Elrond was mainly movie-verse. I had an extremely difficult time deciding how to make it the same but different by throwing in Keira's thoughts and opinions. The hardest thing about writing Fanfiction is obtaining the same originality throughout the chapters. Ugh. But I do admit, it was fun describing all the characters' reactions to each other (*cough* Legolas and Gimli *cough*).

Feel free to tell me your opinions, and thanks once again for reading! You guys are the best!

-**PC**


	18. Visioned

**Back again with Chapter 18!**

* * *

><p>"Bank, Carca! <em>Bank!"<em>

The Breyta turns sharply, his powerful wing beats dispersing the grey clouds surrounding us. He levels out into a steep glide just as a flock of geese zooms by, honking as they go. They keep to a tight v formation. Carca's golden eyes glow with intrigue.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips. "Valar forbid, they sound much larger than they really are."

"What's the matter, Keira?" Carca dodges abruptly to the side, blocking one of the geese from its course. The bird has no time to react as it slams head-first into the wolf's massive chest. A disturbing crunch resounds, and moments later the goose is hanging limp from Carca's jaws.

"Carca!" I pull a face as blood dribbles down from the creature's broken neck. "That's disgusting!"

"What?" Carca spits out a mouthful of reddened down. "It's free breakfast. Why would I pass up on that?"

I turn away from the gruesome sight and settle on looking down at the Fellowship as they travel beneath us. The mountainous terrain has caused several of them to stumble, Bill the pony included. If not for Sam's constant guidance, the animal would have met its end yesterday when a section of the path split off in front of them.

The hobbits appear to be getting along fine, given the amount of walking they have had to do throughout the past week. Surprisingly, Carca and I have had very little contact with the Fellowship at all. The only time that I find myself able enough to converse with them is during the night hours, when all are at rest.

Tonight, however, I have made it my personal mission to take up a conversation that lasts more than five seconds.

"It's getting dark," I say, glancing up at the sky. "The company should be stopping soon."

"Within the hour," replies the Breyta, happily munching on the unfortunate goose. The sound of grinding bones twists my stomach into knots, and I begin to feel nauseated.

_Don't think about it, just don't think about it…_

"Carca, I don't think I can take this anymore. We've been flying almost nonstop for days. I need to walk a little."

The Breyta swallows loudly. "That old fear of heights coming back to you?"

"No, it's not that. Just… set me down. My legs have gone numb. I don't want to appear weak."

Carca rolls his shoulders before tucking in his wings and plummeting down through the sky. There is a light shower coming down from the grey rainclouds in which we reside. Even at our height, the moisture is dense enough to dampen Carca's fur and soak into my already chilled skin. And to add to the misery, I think I feel a headache coming on. Fantastic.

My companion makes a relatively steady landing on the pathway, directly behind the members of the Fellowship. The wolf struggles to get a foothold on the slippery surface, and it is only after a moment of slipping and slides that he manages to stabilize himself. There is a soft grinding sound as his claws latch onto a split in the stone.

With a grunt of effort I slide from his back and force my wobbly legs to bear my weight. The sheer drop less than a foot beside me daunts my tired mind, but I force myself to ignore it.

"They're making camp in that mountain cave up ahead," I inform him, watching as the group disappears within the yawning cavity. Gandalf directs them in with his staff, and I snicker as he whacks Pippin lightly on the backside.

"Hurry along, Peregrin. We haven't got all day."

"The path, Gandalf. It's disappeared!"

I frown. What is he talking about?

"The hobbit is right," rumbles Carca. "There is a large drop off ahead."

"What on earth could have had the power to do such a thing? This road is ancient, more than twenty feet thick. Not even falling rocks could manage such a feat."

"Aye." The wolf swings his head towards me. "But since when have such things daunted the Lypta?"

A shudder runs down my spine, and I mutter a curse. "They've found us."

"The foul creatures have been on our tail for three days now."

"If that is so, than why have they not attacked already?"

Carca chuckles. "Even in all their might, the Lypta have still not grown accustomed enough in their new bodies to face the powers of both the Were-rider and an Istari combined. It would be a death sentence."

Now it's my turn to laugh. "So, the hounds of Sauron do have enough sense to know how to preserve their own lives." I squint up at the darkening sky. "What a shame."

"Indeed."

"Oi! Keira!"

I whip around to see Pippin waving to me anxiously. "Good of you to join us! Now come on, let's get out of the rain!"

"Much obliged," I say, cringing as a large raindrop plops onto the bridge of my nose.

The cave is much smaller than I originally thought. More of an overhang, really. There is barely enough room to fit Bill the pony, much less a horse-sized Breyta. Carca is forced to squeeze himself into the far back of the cave. His dark fur melts into the shadows, and all I am able to see are a pair of golden eyes blinking back at me.

Sam has managed to kindle a fire, even in the moist weather, and is now frying several sausages in his pan. The iron skillet seems to be very dear to him, along with his spices. The crackling of both the cooking meat and the orange flames seems to mesmerize me as I take a seat beside Gimli. The dwarf's eyes glitter hungrily as he gazes upon the browning food. For a moment I'm not even sure that he acknowledges my presence.

"The sausages 'er ready," says Sam after a few long minutes of silence. Three hands shoot towards the pan in order to snatch up the hunks of meat. Pippin, Merry, and Gimli. No wonder; dwarves and hobbits are just about the hungriest races there are. Aside from the Breyta, that is. Even the men can't seem to pass up on the meal as they each reach out to grab one.

And then there's poor, vegetarian Legolas who prefers to eat the unknown mush cooked alongside them.

Somehow, the prospect of food does nothing but bring back disturbing memories of the bloodied goose disappearing down Carca's gullet. I cringe and rub my hands along the outside of my arms, trying desperately to keep warm amongst the frigidness of the mountain air.

"Are you not hungry?"

Jumping slightly, I look over to see Gimli stuff the entire sausage into his mouth. His eyebrows are raised.

"No," I say meekly. "My appetite seems to have gone away from me."

He laughs heartily. "More for me, then! Mind if I eat your portions?"

"Go ahead."

At the most inopportune moment, my stomach growls. Gimli pauses mid-chew and glances over at me. I smile sheepishly.

"Lass," he begins after swallowing. "I can't help but notice that something's been amiss, with you especially. Now it's not like the errand we're running is a happy one, but Gandalf and the hobbits have been pleasant enough. Tell me, what's troubling you?" The dwarf leans in close, his beard tickling my ear. "It's not the elf, is it?"

"No!" I cry, pulling back suddenly. "What on earth made you think that?"

"I don't like the looks of him, that lad. He's cunning, quick-minded, and much too flippant about this ordeal. Prancing around like a yearling buck while the rest of us struggle to keep up."

"Now Gimli, I can't believe that." My gaze drifts over to where the elf stands at the mouth of the cave, gazing out into the night. His jaw is set into a hard line. "Legolas is older and wiser than he looks."

"And how might you know that?"

I look over at the dwarf and smile. "Long ago, when I was but a girl, Legolas saved me from being killed by Warg riders. Afterwards he took me in and cared for me within the safety of the Palace walls." Gimli's eyes seem to lose some of their fire as I continue. "I left him twice; once to go to Rivendell, and the next time… well, the next time was for good. We had gone for a ride on horseback when the Lypta caught us resting by the river. They wounded both of us severely, and it was only by the Valar's good grace that Carca was there to save us."

"He's quite an imposing thing, your companion."

"You should tell that to him sometime. The Breyta quite like flattery."

The burly dwarf shuffles slightly before inquiring in a hushed whisper, "How exactly did you become the Were-rider, lass?"

I jab a finger into his chest, smirking slightly. "That, master dwarf, is none of your business."

"Alright, alright," he says, waving me off. "I won't press any further."

"Good, now get some sleep." I look to the rest of the company. "All of you. The journey ahead is long and hard." My words are met with deaf ears, as everyone appears to be immersed into their own conversations. Sighing, I get to my feet, give Gimli's shoulder a squeeze, and make my way over to Carca. The dark Breyta groans slightly as I slide up next to him.

"Sorry if I woke you," I say, leaning back against his shoulder.

"I was quite awake," he replies with a yawn. "How did the conversation with the dwarf go?"

"Valar, Carca, you sound like my mother. And I would hardly call it a conversation. More like an exchange of questions."

"…which would be referred to as a conversation."

"Carca?"

"Yes, Keira?"

"Shut up."

* * *

><p>It is well past midnight when a harsh whisper wakes me from my sleep. Eyes shooting open, I let out a small gasp. There is a figure looming before me. I blink rapidly and grovel half-hazardly for my sword. The tall silhouette leans forward, and my lungs swell in preparation to scream.<p>

A hand claps over my mouth, and suddenly there is another face in front of my own. The darkness makes it difficult for me to make out their identity. Terror courses through my veins as I realize that I no longer feel Carca lying beside me. Where has he gone? Panicking, I do the only thing that I can. I bite down as hard as I can on the figure's palm. The smooth, sparsely calloused palm. The forest-scented hand that could only belong to one person in the universe.

My teeth make contact just as a gentle voice says, "Do not be afraid, it is…"

Oh drat.

Legolas gives a short cry before yanking away his hand. "Snakes and adders, Keira!"

"I'm… I'm sorry," I stammer out, rising shakily to my feet. My boots make small scuffing sounds as I step up to him. The elf shakes his hand out, and I reach forward and grip hold of his wrist. "Let me look at it."

"There is no time. You must come with me now."

I frown and brush back a wayward strand of hair. "What is it?"

"No time." A ray of moonlight casts through the entrance of the cave, illuminating a deep cut on the elf's otherwise flawless cheek. Blood trickles down from it in a river of red.

"Legolas, you're bleeding! What did this to you?"

The Prince shakes his head and grips my forearm. "Come," he says, tugging frantically. I follow after him, heart pounding at a frantic rhythm. Legolas only makes it a couple of steps before one of his knees buckles, and he falls to the ground. I give a bleak of surprise as I am yanked down with him.

"Prince?" No reply comes. "Prince!" I roll the elf onto his back and let out a shriek. His eyes are no longer blue as the ocean, but red. A deep shade of fiery crimson that seems to burn into my very soul.

"_YOU WILL FAIL," _growls a ragged voice. _"THE WORLD WILL BURN."_

"Legolas!" I wail. "What is going on?"

"_I WILL BREAK YOU, WERE-RIDER!"_

Suddenly, the elf disappears. A different vision appears before my eyes. A great Eye, flaming with fire and rage, sitting atop a black tower. Its pupil is a thin slit as I stare into it, hollow and terrified and, most of all, vulnerable.

"_I SEE YOU," _it hisses. _"I SEE YOU."_

Then, emerging out of the flames, comes the head of a great golden serpent. Two bronze horns adorn the top of its head. Its eyes shine like wicked rubies, and black smoke seeps out from its mouth. The beast opens its jaws, revealing two rows of needle-point fangs.

"I am Karr," hisses the beast. "King of the Lypta."

"The Lypta have no king," I bite back, throwing back my head in pain. The heat is all consuming. It is everywhere and everything, burning me from the inside out.

Karr's lips curl into an evil grin. "Who are you to be challenging me? A little girl bearing the title of Were-rider?" The dragon inches closer, angling its head so that it gazes down upon me with a single, burning eye. Its pupil is dark and jagged, dilating and contracting at such a rapid pace that I can hardly think at the same rate. The serpent's teeth, blackened at the tips, clink together imposingly.

"Oh, I am absolutely _terrified _of you_." _

I sneer rebelliously, and as my gaze slowly drifts away from its enormous eye, I find myself looking upon a strange sight. At the base of the golden creature's neck lies a great white scar, splitting through the scales as if they were no more than paper thin. Dried blood still remains caked underneath some of them, as if to serve as some sort of memory

Karr's next words are deathly soft. "I swear to you an oath, Were-rider. One year from now, the sun will set upon the blackened corpses of your rider kin, and the moon shall rise to bath the bodies of the dead in her ghoulish silver light. When all hope has availed you and your friends lie slaughtered at your feet, I will make my final kill." The Lypta raises up his forearm, and the firelight glints off of the copper tips of his claws. "But it will not be you, Keira. No, you are not the one that I will kill. There is someone else in mind that I find myself suited to be rid of on that day.

"He is very dear to you, this fellow, and such feelings will only grow as time progresses. But they will be cut short." The Karr slams his scaled hand into the ground. "And you, Were-rider, will suffer just as I have all these long years. You will suffer as he bleeds out onto the ground before you. You will suffer when the Orcs torture you as revenge for their fallen brethren. But yet we will not let you die. The beasts will torture you until you are unrecognizable as a girl, and only then will you be allowed to do the master's will. You will live to serve under Lord Sauron, for he will have great use of you. He will use you to destroy what little remains of the elves and dwarves and men of Gondor and Rohan. Even the quaint little Shirelings from Hobbiton will meet their demise at the end of your blade. You will be unstoppable."

"I would fall upon my own sword rather than let you have your way with me. You will die, Karr, just like your Orc armies. Even Sauron will fall at the end of all things."

"Such bravery…" Karr rises up until he is towering nearly thirty feet over me. "Such courage. If only we could break you now instead of later." For a moment the Lypta actually looks sympathetic. But then, just as quickly as it came, the look is gone. "But now is not the time. Sleep well, Keira, for this may be the last time you are able to rest without fear lurking within your heart." With that he opens his jaws, and out from his throat comes a gushing flow of drake-fire. It slams directly into my chest, scorching my skin and digging into my eyes. I try to scream, but my lungs seem to have been done away with, leaving nothing but a hollow cavity in my chest. My mouth is thrust open as the flames work their way through my lips and down my esophagus. Melting skin. Incinerating muscle. Liquefying bones until I am nothing but a puddle of blood and chunks of flesh.

Pain.

Pain.

Such bitter pain.

And then my eyes are met alas with the darkness of dream-death.

* * *

><p>"Keira!"<p>

My eyes fly open and take in Gandalf's face inches from mine. I pant frantically, fingers clawing at the ground.

"There is no need to fear," he says gently. "You were only dreaming."

"I… It was… But he..."

The old wizard frowns. "What is it?"

"I saw something, Gandalf."

"What did you see?"

I let out a small cry, remembering the agony of the fire licking at my skin. "I saw a beast. He called himself the King of the Lypta. In a vision, I was standing atop a black tower, facing towards an Eye of raging flame. It was Sauron's eye; I heard his voice in my head, though I do not believe him to have seen my location. Then out the Eye's pupil emerged a great serpent. He went by the name of…" Words fail me, and I curl into a tight ball.

"What was his name?" inquires Mithrandir.

"It… it…" I take a deep breath. "He called himself Karr."

"Karr? I have never heard such a name."

"Nor have I. He took the form of a great golden dragon, though larger, much larger than any of the other Lypta drakes. He stood the height of five horses."

"What did he say to you?"

"He spoke in a strange tongue, yet I understood it. Karr said that he would kill someone dear to me exactly one year from now, and that Sauron would enslave me after all my loved ones are... dead." My head bows in shame. "I was weak, Gandalf. I was not able to withstand his power."

The wizard squeezes my shoulder comfortingly. "Do not be frightened. The enemy does not yet know of our plans to destroy the Ring."

"But Karr seems to have knowledge of the future. How can we be certain that this quest remains secret?"

"Dragons are deceitful creatures, Keira. This 'Karr' beast that you speak of could be lying just as easily."

Something in his eyes makes me think otherwise, but nevertheless I allow the Istari to help me to my feet.

"We plan to leave at dawn," he says. "Several members of the company are already awake."

An enormous wave of guilt washes over me. "It wasn't because of me, was it?"

"Your suffering was silent. Not even your companion appeared to notice." I look back at the still-sleeping Breyta and nod.

"Good. Than let us keep this conversation between ourselves. The rest of the Fellowship, and Frodo especially, do not need anything else to worry about." Gandalf smiles his agreement, and as dawn just begins to break over the horizon, I allow my mind to empty of all thoughts of Karr and his menacing omen.

* * *

><p>"Argh!"<p>

Gimli the dwarf slams the butt of his axe into the ground for about the fiftieth time in an hour. His eyes are aflame with rage and annoyance.

"Curse this miserable weather!" he bellows up to the clouds. "Would it be too much to ask for a bit of sunshine every now and then?" A rumble of thunder sounds in reply, adding further to the horrid cacophony of rain pelting from the heavens.

"That's enough racket from you, Gimli," says Gandalf, nudging him with his staff. "The sooner we arrive to the lower lands, the better.

The red-headed dwarf grumbles as he trudges along the pathway. "Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous!"

"Will someone shut that pile of worm-dirt _up?" _mutters Carca.

"Hush," I say. "The dwarf is already miserable. No need to call him names."

"Miserable? Bah! The only ones in true misery are you and I. This wretched weather makes it nigh impossible for me to fly. How would the dwarf like being grounded to the earth when he could be soaring through the skies?"

"Carca, we'd be struck by lightning if we dared to take to the air."

"Not I. Only you would carry that risk, as your sword is made of metal, and I know for a fact that you would not dare leave it behind." The wolf shakes himself briskly. "I will take to the air and scout the land ahead. Keep to the course directed by Gandalf."

I nod to him, and the Breyta is gone in a flurry of black.

Several members of the Fellowship seem surprised when they turn round to see only me trekking behind them, Boromir especially so. His brow is furrowed into quizzical v.

"Where is your companion?" he asks.

"Carca is scouting the land ahead," I reply, striding forward until we are standing face to face. "When did you become so concerned, Gondorian?"

His grey eyes are as cold as ice, but he says no more. Instead, the man shakes his head slowly and continues on down the path. I don't bother following as he disappears around the bend. Something about him is not quite right, and I want to put as much distance between us as is possible. A strange energy radiates off of Boromir; a greedy, conniving sense of pride that disturbs me greatly. If only Carca were here so that I might confide the predicament to him.

My thoughts quickly turn from light to dull as I think about my dearest friend. Though it has only been mere seconds since the Breyta left, already I feel my heart yearning to be with him. We are bonded eternally through friendship and the pure magic of the Valar. Such an attachment requires that we be together as much as possible. Any long term separation might damage the bond. But in the end, both of us will have to be taken from each other. Death shall come to all in time, though I can't help but pray that I should be the first one to go so as not to contend with the grief of losing my dearest companion…even if that is selfish to think.

After a momentary pause, I find myself bustling after the man. Knowing Gandalf and the rapid pace he maintains, it would not be unlike him to unintentionally leave me behind.

_Crazy wizard, _I think with a snort.

Suddenly, my right foot catches on a loose pebble, and I let out a yelp of surprise as I find myself spilling over the side of the cliff. Thoughts scrambled, it is by complete and utter luck that my hands manage to clutch onto the side. I prevent my tumble into oblivion using nothing but sheer upper body strength.

My fingers scrabble to get a hold on the slippery surface. The sharp rocks cut deeply into the thin skin on my palms, and blood begins to trickle down onto my forearm.

A ragged cry of "Help," crawls out from my throat, followed by a cry of pain as a wind gust hammers my legs into the cliff. Numbness spreads throughout my shins, and I start to feel queasy. The sound of pitter-pattering fills my ears, but it is hardly indistinguishable from the rainfall. Giving a grunt of effort, I attempt to pull myself back onto the lip of the path. My arms scream in protest, but I force myself to try to pull through. The action, however, only results in cutting my hands even more. Another waver of blood spills out from between my fingers. I let out a hollow wail.

_Hear me, Carca! Hear me!_

But the Breyta is too far away. His mind presence is but a faint murmur in the back of my brain.

"Keira!" cries a small voice. "Gandalf, Keira's—" The person's statement is cut short by a loud clap of thunder, followed closely by a volt of lightning. The crackling white light stabs into the mountain above me. An enormous slab of stone is reduced to rubble by the sheer force of the blow, and I feel terror course through my veins as the resulting boulders begin to tumble down towards me.

_Oh Valar, please don't let it end this way._

The rocks crash noisily down the slope, gaining ground with each passing second. Strength failing, I try one last time to heave myself up. My palms glow to life as I attempt to use magic to aid me. But that, too, fails, and I give a cry of anguish before letting my arms sag. As the tumbling stones grow closer and closer, I squeeze my eyes shut and prepare for the end.

_Maybe the Valar will send me back. Maybe they'll send me back…_

Then, just as the massive boulders are about to collide with the pathway, two strong hands grip onto my wrists. I give a small gasp as I find myself being wrenched upwards and pulled against the wall of the cliff. My cheek presses against a sodden tunic. It smells faintly of leaves and earth. Stricken by terror and shock, I press tightly against my rescuer's chest just as a deafening crash sounds from above. Five man-sized rocks come rumbling down the mountain side, lobbing off the outcropping which I had been hanging onto just moments before. Several of them break apart into crumbling pieces of dusty stone. The resulting cloud of debris burns my lungs, and I resist the impulse to gag.

After a terrifying few seconds, the dust begins clear. A loud shout of, "Keira!" finds its way to my ears, then a cry of, "Legolas!"

_Legolas?_

My heart lurches as I crane my neck up and meet the sapphire gaze of my elven savior. His face is dotted sparsely with scratches and scuffs from particles of rock, but his eyes have not lost any of their intensity.

"Prince?" I squeak out.

"Mind your step," he says in reply. His lips are pressed into a flat line, yet I make out the faintest of smiles tugging at their corners. Awestruck, I continue to stare up at him.

"Why is it that you are always saving me?"

The elf shakes his head slowly and pries my arms off of him. "You were almost crushed by falling rocks, yet you still manage to find humor in it all?"

"You know that I never miss out on an opportunity for sarcasm." I reach up to dust off the collar of his tunic. "Look at that, you're actually dirty. That's new."

That earns me a true smile, though he does not show teeth as he once did. I grin up at him and tuck his braid behind a pointed ear.

"I've missed my friend," I say softly. "He has been gone for so long."

His pleasant expression quickly morphs into a severe one. "Keira, pressing me about the subject will do you no good."

"Why do you hang onto such petty anger, Legolas? It has been twenty years; not twenty hours, not twenty days. Twenty _years." _I blink sadly. "Ever heard of the words forgive and forget?"

"Enough, Keira." His eyes spark with blue fire. "I wish not to talk of the matter. I have been through enough trouble without adding you as a burden."

I step back, heart wounded and prepared to retreat, when an enormous wave of pain shoots up my knee. A warbled yelp bursts forth from my lips as my legs give out from underneath me. Legolas grabs hold of my elbow before I can make contact with the ground.

"You're injured," he says lowly. I follow his gaze downwards to see a thick stream of blood pouring out from a gash on my calf. No, not a gash. There is a sharp of rock embedded in the muscle. It splits through both flesh and tissue, but even that cannot compare to the waves of pain surging out from it. It feels as though my leg is ripping itself apart.

As if on cue, Aragorn comes darting around the corner. He looks at the rubble of the pathway in shock.

_What was he expecting? To find us pounded into pulp?_

"Keira is injured," says Legolas. "Without her companion, she will not be able to go much further without treatment."

The Ranger looks up at the sky and nods briefly. "I will tell Gandalf. We will take refuge at the base of the mountain."

"It's nothing, Aragorn." I glance over to him, then up at Legolas. "Really, I'm fine."

"You are bleeding badly, my lady."

"Thankfully for me, I have the good guys on my side." Summoning up what little remains of my strength, I allow the power of the Valar to flow from my fingertips in the form of a deep and ancient magic. It loops through the air in the form of thin silver tendrils before finding refuge inside gaping wound. It bores deep into my flesh, making the skin around the area glow. The rock is reduced to ash in bright burst of light.

I then watch as my wound begins to bind itself together, staring first with the veins and tendons, then the muscle, then lastly the skin. In less than thirty seconds, my leg is as good as new.

Looking up at Aragorn, I give him a mad grin. "See? The wound was deep, but not to the bone, thus I was able to heal it."

Legolas raises an eyebrow. "And what if it had gone to the bone?"

I shake my head. "It would not have been reparable by elemental means. I've tried before, but only resulted in causing myself a great deal of pain."

"Very intriguing, this magic of yours." The rugged man pauses, as if waiting for me to say more. When I remain silent, he offers out a hand.

I reach up and take it, grateful to have the support. Aragorn pulls me gently to me feet and smiles. I return one brightly and, shaking out my newly-healed leg, continue on down the mountain path.

* * *

><p>Three long, uneventful weeks pass by. The Fellowship eventually made it out of the recesses of the mountain and onto the dry plains west of Rivendell. The stormy weather receded just as quickly as it had come, making for relatively smooth travel. As the days went by, we maintained a regular system. Sam cooked breakfast, lunch, and supper for us every day. Aragorn and Gandalf would help lead the company in the right direction, as they have the most knowledge of the land. Merry and Pippin did their best to keep out of mischief, and Legolas helped to scour the area for danger. Boromir taught the hobbits the art of sword-fighting, and Gimli would occasionally remark on the change of the weather or how he missed the "underground life."<p>

Carca had returned two days after his scouting trip, informed us that the land ahead was derive of any and all signs of life, save the dumb beasts of the earth. He and I alternated between flying and walking as the weeks passed. Every morning we would take to the skies and keep watch for signs of orcs or the Lypta, then from noon to dusk we would trek along with the company. Walking such great distances may not have been taxing for Carca and I, but to the others, and the hobbits especially, it was quite nearly unbearable. But though it was, and still is, painful, it proves to be a good opportunity to grow in friendship with the other Fellowship members.

All but one, that is.

Since the near-tragedy on the mountain, Legolas has taken it upon himself to keep away from me as much as possible. Most of the time he resides at the front of the group, watching and listening for anything that might be moved to attack us. Whenever I feel the desire to talk to him, my aching heart always reminds me of that day on the mountains. The words that came from his mouth.

"_I have been through enough trouble without adding you as a burden."_

Elves are fragile as much as they are strong. Legolas is no exception. He has already lost so much in his life, and to have me abandon him at such a time is something that he cannot seem to forgive.

And I cannot seem to forgive myself.

* * *

><p>The hilltop on which we rest at the noon has a strange feel to it, but Carca and I abide to it nonetheless. Gandalf is always wise in his discretion of where to make camp. No need to argue with him.<p>

A cool breeze sweeps across the land as Sam makes his way over to me, steaming plate of sausages in hand. He hands it to me somewhat shyly, and I thank him.

"How's Frodo?" I ask, gesturing to where the hobbit sits several feet away. He appears to be observing the sparing match between Boromir and Pippin.

"He's managing," replies Sam, "although I don't like Boromir being around him. Somethin's up with 'im, but I don't know what."

"I have felt the same way," rumbles Carca. "As he hails from Gondor, I would not be surprised if he wishes to take the Ring to his father instead of destroying it. Denethor is a cruel and greedy Steward. If the Ring were to fall in his hands, the world would fall to Sauron."

"I do not think that he would dare try to steal it." My eyes narrow at the Gondorian. "Not now, at least. Keep an eye on him, Sam, and you can bet Carca and I will be watching, as well."

The stocky hobbit nods and prepares to turn around when Carca gives out a low growl. He slowly runs his tongue over his fangs. Sam blushes guiltily and tosses him a hunk of meat before bustling off to deliver a plate to Frodo. The Breyta munches happily on his sausage as we both look on at the sword fight.

"Move your feet," Aragorn says to the Halfling. He watches the sparing match with a thoughtful expression as he smokes his pipe.

"Look at him," I mumble to Carca between mouthfuls of food. "Pippin will handle himself nicely if any Orcs should cross our path."

"Perhaps, but you must take in mind that Boromir is likely going easy on him. He learns quickly, I will give him that, but Orcs tend to rely on brute strength instead of swordsmanship. They would squash him like an overgrown cockroach."

"Lovely image there, Carca."

"You look good, Pippin," chimes Merry, admiring his cousin's endurance. After all, they have been fighting for nearly fifteen minutes.

"Thanks," his cousin replies. Then, much to my surprise, Merry joins in. Frodo and Sam snicker quietly.

"Feisty little things, aren't they?" I glance over to see Gimli marching over to us. His enormous red beard is rather unkempt. So unkempt, in fact, that it more resembles a furry mumakil. The image is so strange that I can't help but snort.

"Aye, master dwarf." Another breeze wafers down through the valley, and my brow furrows. It smells strangely of ash. Carca notices it, too, as his nose wrinkles in distaste.

"Gandalf says that we're to be coming close to the Gap of Rohan within the week," continues to the dwarf, oblivious to the strange scent. "I myself feel like this journey is taking longer than it should. The Mines of Moria would prove a much quicker route, don't you think?"

"That would be a question better reserved for Gandalf." Gimli nods before trudging over to the old wizard.

Oh dear, what have I done?

"If anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I note that they're not, I'd say that we were taking the long way round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome." The dwarf smiles with assurance, but Gandalf seems to darken a bit. His grip on his staff tightens.

"No, Gimli. I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice."

_Odd. Gandalf almost sounds… fearful._

My gaze flickers over to Legolas as he jogs to the front of them. He perches upon a large boulder and looks out to the sky. I follow his gaze upwards to see a large grey cloud moving in from the east. His posture is tense with unease, and I rise up from my crouched posture.

"Something's not right," I whisper, preparing to join him.

Suddenly, a sharp cry fills the air, and I look over just in time to see Pippin's sword clatter to the ground. The hobbit clutches his hand as if in some sort of pain. A spark of rage ignites within me as I see the sunlight glint of a red cut on his palm. Carca slides up next to me.

"_Do not intervene. There is no need."_

"Sorry!" exclaims Boromir, stepping forward. Pippin abruptly kicks him in the shin, and Merry shouts, "Get him!" Both hobbits lunge at the Gondorian and wrestle him to the ground, crying, "For the Shire!" Aragorn smirks, but Carca and I can find no humor in the situation. The only thing we are focused on is the strange cloud moving in towards us.

"That's enough, gentlemen," cuts in the Ranger, placing a hand on either of their shoulders. Has he noticed it, too? Merry and Pippin will not have it, however, and they each grab onto his legs and flip him onto the ground.

Sam, meanwhile, squints up at the sky. His pudgy face is tight with worry. "What is that?"

"Nothing," grumbles Gimli, "just a wisp of cloud."

"It's moving fast," says Boromir. "And against the wind!"

"Crebain from Dunland!" cries Legolas. Blood turns to ice in my veins.

_Saruman's spies. They mean to find us out!_

"Hide!" hollers Aragorn just as I shout, "Take cover!"

All at once the company is on their feet, gathering their things and scrambling for cover. Sam snuffs out the fire while Strider grabs hold of Frodo's arm and yanks him down behind a large patch of brush. Pippin and Merry take refuge in a thick web of brambles, and Legolas dips behind a large boulder.

While the rocks and brush surrounding the hilltop provide decent cover for most, they are not enough to camouflage a gigantic ebony Breyta. I look over at Carca with fear in my eyes.

"Where will you hide, Carca?"

The dark wolf tucks in his massive wings, and all at once they disappear within his dark coat. "To them I am nothing but a common wolf. They are not concerned with me. But you, Keira, must remain unseen." He smiles comfortingly. "They are only crows, my friend. Nothing more." Carca closes his eyes just as the flock of Crebain rains down upon the hillside. Cawing and screaming, their beady yellow eyes search us out as they dodge between brambles and boulders. One unfortunate bird ends up being snapped up in Carca's open jaws, providing him with a quick yet revolting meal.

The Crebain loop several times around the area, and all I can do is pray that the Fellowship remains hidden. Hopefully Frodo has enough sense in him not to put the Ring on. It would do nothing but attract the creature's attention.

But he does not, and after several terrifying seconds the birds are gone, having disappeared into the sky just as quickly as they came. The company, including myself, springs out of hiding almost as soon as they are out of sight.

"Spies of Saruman," Gandalf says with a sneer. "The passage South is being watched." He turns his gaze upwards to a great white mountain towering up to the west. "We must take the pass of Caradhras." A shudder runs down my spine as I come to stand beside Frodo, whose expression has quickly shifted from fearful to devastated. I squeeze his and Sam's shoulders comfortingly.

"Do not be frightened," Aragorn says, noting the hobbits' dejected faces. "We have persevered thus far. It will not end here." Frodo looks up at him, blue eyes large and sad. He thinks he's lying. Valar, even _I _think he's lying! Caradhras is an evil mountain to say the least, but if this quest is to succeed, we must have faith that the Fellowship can make it through.

"Aragorn is right," I add in. "Do not trouble yourselves with worry, for it will do you no good." Legolas looks over at me. His gaze is softer than usual; the ice in his gaze has melted. My lips turn down wryly.

"Now let us be gone of this place," booms Carca from atop a nearby boulder. "The sooner we get to that mountain, the sooner we can be rid of it." He spreads out his wings and glides down next to me. His golden eyes are ripe with worry and dread. Smiling sadly, I mount onto the saddle and look to the rest of the Fellowship. My hand hovers over the hilt of my sword, and I draw it before extending it out from my body.

"Et an i orto, Carca!"

And we fly.

* * *

><p><strong>Apologies for the late update! These past two weeks have just been so busy for me! I also didn't get a chance to write on Memorial Day, so that slowed me down quite a bit.<strong>

**Elvish Translator: "Et an i orto." –"Forth to the mountain."**

**Anyways, I hope you all liked to new chapter! Have a nice weekend!**

**-PC**


	19. Forgiven

_Hello again, dearest readers! Sorry again about the wait... I had to work at VBS all week and, on top of that, had a head cold. Between that and having volleyball tryouts, things have been pretty hectic around here._

_But, on a chipper note, I did manage to write a new chapter! Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Before Gandalf decided to lead us on a path through Caradhras, I thought I knew what snow looked like. Turns out I was wrong. Of course, the Brown Plains would have its fair share of blizzards every now and then, but that cannot compare to what I am facing now. Caradhras is not a mountain; it is an oblivion of white. And it is into that realm of oblivion that we have trekked, risking life and limb in order to accomplish our goal. We are so high up that the clouds have begun to furl around us, and between that and the occasional ice flurries, the journey is altogether miserable.<p>

To us taller travelers, the snow drifts reach only up to our knees. Gimli and the hobbits, however, are practically wading in the stuff. Aragorn and Boromir manage Frodo and the two cousins while Sam struggles to lead Bill. The pony is heavier than all of us, especially with the packs he carries. Different scenarios play out in my mind of him breaking a leg or losing his footing. Both result in the animal tumbling down the mountain and snapping its neck. I had been tempted to offer Sam my and Carca's assistance, but Legolas has taken to keeping an eye on them. That and there was another that was in more dire need of attention.

Gimli, not surprisingly, was having the most trouble of all the company. Every now and then he would stumble upon a deep spot of snow and end up sinking down to his beard. I took it upon myself to walk beside him and aid the dwarf whenever it happened.

Like right now.

"Argh!" Gimli bellows, but his cry is cut short when all but his forehead disappears beneath a mound of snow. Rolling my eyes, I plunge my arm down into the frigid powder and haul him up by the collar of his shirt. The fiery dwarf surfaces with an indignant roar.

"Oh, shut up," I say, grunting as I heave him to his feet. "You've been through worse. Remember when you almost fell down that ravine back when we had only just left Rivendell?"

"Aye, but don't you mention it again!" Gimli dusts himself off and proceeds to jab a finger at me. "You've been conspiring with that elf, I'm sure of it!"

I laugh. "Me? Conspiring? Why would you accuse me of such a thing?"

"Because you're a magical, conniving, slippery little—"

With a snap of my fingers I send a snowball hurtling towards his face. The dwarf just manages to duck down before it can make contact. I am in the process of forming another one when a shout echoes up from behind us. Glancing over, it takes all I can not to burst out laughing when I see Boromir standing to the left of Gimli. Particles of the snowball are stuck to his stubbly beard, and the rest have caked themselves in his hair. Between that and the serious expression he's struggling to pull off, the whole scenario is simply hilarious.

"Apologies, Boromir," I say teasingly. "Didn't see you there."

"Mind your aim," is all he tells me before continuing on his way. Pippin trails after him, followed closely by Merry, but not before shooting me smalls smiles. I give them one in return.

"What is this violence all about?"

The voice startles the grin right off of me, and I turn around to see Carca flap up next to us. His powerful wings stir up flurries of snow. I cringe as my relatively warm clothing grows stiff in the tornado of frost.

"We're just having a bit of fun, Carca. Is that such a bad thing?"

"This is no ordinary mountain, Keira." The Breyta angles his muzzle upward to look at the tall peak ahead of us. "Caradhras does not like visitors. It will try everything within its power to be rid of those who dare test its power."

"Are you saying that this mountain is alive?"

"Not alive, but aware."

The thought sends fear prickling through my fingertips. "So far our journey up its spine has been relatively smooth. Let us pray that our luck holds out until we have arrived at—"

A sharp cry interrupts me, and I look back over my shoulder. Frodo seems to have lost his footing and is now tumbling down the mountain side.

"Frodo!" shouts Aragorn. Lucky for the young hobbit, the Ranger is there to break his fall. Strider grabs onto his shoulders and helps him to his feet. At first the Halfling seems alright, but then a panicked look of fear glazes over his eyes, and his fingers scrabble at his neck.

_Has he lost the Ring?_

Eyes wide with horror, I am about to go searching for it when Boromir steps up next to me. He bends down and grasps onto a small chain link half buried in the snow. So concealed is the object, in fact, that I would not have been able to find it myself without Carca's aid. The man's eyes grow wide as he holds the Ring out in front of him. The sun glints off of its golden surface, winking at me evilly. Frodo's face tightens with concern.

A low growl sounds from Carca. His ears lay flat against his head, and he bares his fangs.

"Boromir," says Aragorn warningly, his expression stern. The Gondorian seems not to hear his words.

"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing." Boromir tilts his head, mesmerized. "Such a little thing." The golden object sways in the wind as he raises up a hand to touch it.

"Boromir!" The man snaps out of his trance-like isolation upon hearing Strider's urgent tone. "Give the Ring to Frodo." Boromir looks shocked for a brief moment as he strides forth to hand the chain to the hobbit. Frodo snatches it quickly.

"As you wish!" he says. "I care not."

The sandy-haired man grins widely before glancing over at Aragorn. The Ranger's face is not amused. Boromir gives a little laugh as he ruffles the hobbit's curly hair. I let out a sigh of relief as he then retreats back up the hill. Frodo's posture relaxes, and Strider's hand slides away from the hilt of his sword. Carca snaps at the Gondorian as he walks past. His golden eyes are ablaze with distrust.

"Enough, Carca," I hiss. "He has done nothing wrong."

"His heart is blackened by greed. It won't be long now before it consumes him. And when Boromir does succumb to the weakness of his lineage, there will be no one who dares to stop me from intervening." The Breyta swings his head over to look at me. "Keep your eyes open, Keira. The weather does not permit us both to fly, and you are more vulnerable on the ground. Remember, magic is your last resort, but if need be do not hesitate to use it."

"I will not kill Boromir. Not even if he threatened to take my own life. The man is a slave to the will of the Ring. His race is easily corrupted; I would be just like him if it were not for my half-elven lineage."

"Perhaps it would be best if I remained grounded." His fur bristles. "I am not afraid to take a life that is not necessary to this quest."

I frown at the wolf as we trudge up the hill. "The world has use of every soul that is born unto it. Do not let your heart be your guide to knowing Boromir's; it is a wayward and sinful thing, as is mine. We are all imperfect beings. You cannot criticize a person for flaws that you too bear." Carca huffs, irritated, and I point to the sky. "Go. Fly while you still can. When we arrive at the peak, the wind will be too rough to do so. Scout ahead near the peak of the Spine, but do not be long."

"Be it your will, I shall abide." With that the Breyta spreads his wings and takes to the skies, leaving me alone to walk with Gimli.

"How much farther 'till we make camp?" I hear Pippin ask. Merry elbows him hard in the ribs. "What?" the hobbit cries, "I'm hungry!"

"Soon enough, young Peregrin," replies Gandalf. The wizard glances up at Carca as he soars overheard. Breyta and Istari share a long and meaningful glance. I can't help but wonder what is going through their minds. My companion hardly ever looks at anyone the way he does at Mithrandir. After all, most people we encounter are not worthy of being acknowledged.

Perhaps Carca has finally found someone to relate to.

* * *

><p>By the end of the day, my clothing is frozen solid, and the hobbits more resemble walking icicles than actual people. We have reached the land of Hollin, neighboring the cave realm of Moria. The mountain has proved difficult to travel across, but it is presumed that we are to depart from Caradhras within the week.<p>

"We'll rest here for the night," says Gandalf, gesturing to the large bowl-shaped outcropping nestled alongside Caradhras's spine. Sam immediately sets to work on making a fire while Boromir and Aragorn scrounge up any sticks nearby. But, given that we reside on a mountain, bushes and trees and scarce. Perhaps there were once; now there is nothing remaining but a few charred brambles.

_They should be frozen, yet there are burn marks along their sides. Something has been here._

"There will be no firewood to aid you," I tell him, kneeling down beside the struggling hobbit. He is frantically striking two pieces of flint together in an attempt to set alight a small bundle of cotton he has set atop a quint pile of sticks. But as soon as he manages to kindle a flame, the wind snuffs it out.

"I have to start a fire, miss," he says insistently, "or else we're all going to freeze to death! And I've got some extra wood in my pack that should do nicely."

"Don't waste it, Sam. The weather will do nothing but worsen in the days ahead. You will need it most then."

"Then what are you suggesting he does?" snaps Boromir as he bends down to break twigs off of a long dead holly bush.

"He doesn't have to do anything," I bite back, turning to look at the Halfling. "You might want to back up a bit." Sam hesitates for a moment before reluctantly scooting away a foot or so. Smiling with amusement, I lean in close to his pile of twigs and extend my hand over it.

"_Ruunya o ohta ar tanya o tuume,_

_Oro an lav i oron nen kalya."_

White light sparks out from my palm, and all at once the tinder is alight with glowing red fire. Its hot tongues lick at my fingertips. I retract my hand to avoid being burned. Even that small motion sends a dull ache throughout my body. Deep magic wears down upon me with great force.

"How did you do that?" asks Sam.

"Magic," I say, wincing as I lean back against the cold cliff face. "But to summon it is a… difficult task. If it were simple Elvish magic I would have no problem with it, but the secret flame is unpredictable…"

"Secret flame?" Merry inquires, scurrying over next to me. "What's that?"

"Yes, do tell!" says his cousin, sidling up next to him. His cheeks are rosy from cold. I smile with amusement.

"Within the heart of the world lies a deep and powerful magic that dwells in the form of fire. Not many know of its existence, save the elves and Istari, but they mind their words carefully when it comes to the mention of it. For the secret flame burns eternally, pure and holy to both their races …" I tilt my head back and close my eyes. "And mine."

"What does it do, then?"

I'm not sure which of the hobbits spoke, but I answer nonetheless.

"It enables myself and the wizards to perform magic, but only those chosen by the Valar are able to wield it. Gandalf's race, the Istari, contain it within their staffs. The secret flame is what acts as their lights."

"And what about yourself?"

I raise up my right hand, palm facing outward. A warm heat spreads out from its center, and I open my eyes in order to observe the hobbits' reactions. Where once was nothing but skin now lies a glowing silver depiction of a swirling flame.

"The Sign of the Chosen," I say with a smile. "It is what makes my kind and the Istari able to perform such things. It serves as a reminder for those who wield the secret flame to yield it with the proper respect. If we disobey, the Sign will start to burn and will continue to do so until we have corrected what we have done wrong. And if still we refuse to obey the Valar's orders, it will consume us from the inside out. Only the proper runes and riddles must be spoken if such force as the secret fire is to be used."

"Are there other types of magic?" asks Pippin.

"There are two, actually. Both are derived from the secret fire. The Istari and I use a very pure form of magic, known the White flame. We use it only to perform deeds that benefit for good, but there are others that do not abide by the rules the Valar decreed. During their time on Middle Earth, darker creatures like Balrogs used Red fire, a wicked thing that came about after the dark lord Morgoth twisted his use of the secret fire into evil. It was passed on to Sauron, who then used it to help him create the One Ring."

A short pause follows my statement.

Then, finally, Sam speaks up. "Can the Red fire be defeated?"

"Nothing is indestructible, Samwise." I gaze up at the starry sky above me and sigh. "In time, everything will come to pass. The world will burn in the fiery eternity from whence it was came, consumed by the inferno of ages past. Even the Moon, in her everlasting glory, will be felled from the sky. Mountains will shatter. Earth will tremble. Seas will rage.

"But just when all hope seems dwindled, a light will penetrate through the darkness. Such light that has never been seen before. Pure, radiant, and warm. Nothing will be able to put it out. Not even the darkness at hand."

Almost as soon as I have finished my statement, a gust of wind screams down through the valley. The hobbits huddle against each other, shielding their faces from the icy blizzard. But still the fire burns, bright and proud. Sam gazes upon it with an awestruck expression.

"You're right," he says. "We can't go giving up hope now. Not while we still draw breath."

"You have a strong heart, my friend." Smiling, I lean forward and plant a soft kiss on the top of his head. "Get some sleep now. I'll tend the fire."

"Are… are you sure, my lady?"

I get to my feet, grunting as I do so, and touch his shoulder reassuringly. "I am sure."

Merry and Pippin yawn in synch as they curl up on the cloaks they had laid out beneath them. Frodo follows suit shortly after, and Sam whispers gentle works to Bill the pony before falling into a gentle slumber. I watch him for a moment, taking in the even rhythm of his breathing. Hobbits are such peaceful creatures, easy to forget the wrongs in the world. If only the Valar had granted me some peace of mind as well. Because even now my mind cannot rest. All thoughts are towards my companion, wondering where he might be and what on earth had taken him so long.

"Lass!"

The loud shout startles me from my worrying, and I frown upon taking in Gimli's stocky form has he jogs over to me. His breathing is heavy labored.

"Keep your voice down," I tell him. "The hobbits are sleeping."

"And what I wouldn't give to join them," he grumbles, leaning upon his axe. "Mind if I ask a favor of you?"

"What favor?"

Gimli leans closer to me. "I overheard you talking to the hobbits about this magic of yours. How about you use it to turn that elvish Princeling into a nice little… frog, perhaps?"

"Why me?" I exclaim. "You might as well go ask Gandalf if you dare be so bold to request this of me! I will have no part in this feuding, Gimli."

"He's done us no good this far but stare blankly off into the distance and remark about the time of day or the change of weather! Oh, the _weather! _Like I would like to hear about one more dratted snowfall!"

"Mind your tongue!" I hiss at the dwarf. "He could hear you!"

"Then let him," grunts the dwarf, glowering over at the Prince. Much to my relief, Legolas is conversing with Aragorn and appears to be unaware of Gimli's rude comments.

"Sit down and stop your grumbling, master dwarf. No matter how many times you ask me, I will not harm a single hair on that elf's golden head."

Gimli gives a low grunt before plopping down next to the fire. He toys about with his axe, polishing and shining the blade with his tunic. I become entranced with watching him work and in doing so hardly notice when Gandalf comes to stand beside me. In fact, it is only the rich smell of pipe weed that grabs my attention. The old wizard has a habit of smoking, as do the Shirelings.

"Where is Carca?" he asks after a moment, glancing up at the night sky.

"His location is beyond my knowledge," I say. "I've tried to touch his mind, but he is not responding." My fingers rub over the fading silver glow on my palm. "Night has long since fallen, and Carca has never been one to stay out alone after dark. That is what troubles me the most. He and I are strong together, but individually our powers are limited. The Valar did not intend for us to be separated for long periods of time."

"He will come." Gandalf raps his fingers along his staff. "I'm sure of it."

"You are wise, Mithrandir, but none can know the mind of a Breyta. Even I, his rider, do not fully understand him. There is no telling what he will do."

"Why is that?" The wizard's grey eyes glimmer in the firelight.

"Carca was created solely for war. He is a beast bred of light, but there is also a darkness within his heart that cannot be controlled. The Lypta slaughtered his mother before his very eyes when he was but a few months old. He has since aged over a century, but his hatred for Lebanion's killers has not lessened. It had instead spread throughout his heart, and now I fear that it festers within his very soul." A deep shudder runs up my spine, and I have to sit down. Gandalf does the same. Coughing gently, the Istari fans away a thick smoke ring before placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Your companion is strong. He will not act out of foolish hatred alone."

I look over at him with a tight expression. "I would hope not."

There is a glimmer in the wizard's eye. At first I think it to be but the reflection of the firelight, but then I notice the profound deepness in his wrinkles. The fatigue in his voice. The unease in his posture.

There's something he is not telling me.

"What is it, Gandalf?" What troubles you?"

"Nothing, Keira." He smiles at me. "Do not worry yourself. Rest new; your companion will return to you."

After a moment of hesitation, I finally nod. My muscles ache as I make my way over to a large snow drift and set to work on digging myself a shallow bed to sleep in. It is taxing. There is a thick layer of ice lining the ground. I am forced to punch it repeatedly in order to break through.

Minutes pass, most of the company settles in for the night, and I have dug no deeper than two inches. I attempt to summon the secret fire to melt away some of the substance, but the bitter cold and my already fatigued body make it impossible to do so. At last I give up and settle on throwing my riding vest atop the drift. It is all I have left. After all, Carca carries my blankets and coverings in the saddle. If the Breyta does not show up sooner or later, I might well freeze to death.

_Carca, _I call out, willing my thoughts to be strong enough to reach him. _Where are you?_

A dull buzzing sound thrums in my ears, but no reply.

_Answer, my friend. Are you alright?_

More buzzing, this time louder. Could it be him trying to communicate?

"Carca," I say aloud. "One word. Just say one word. That is all I ask of you."

_**Wargs!**_

The voice is so loud that it rattles the inside of my skull. My eyes widen with fright, and I unsheathe my sword. The hissing noise resonates and jolts Frodo out of his slumber.

"Is everything alright?" he asks.

I make no reply, for there is too much fear in my heart. "Where are they, Carca? Where?"

_Behind… _His mind voice dies out.

_Behind what?_

One buzz. Then another, and another.

_Carca, answer me! _I cry. _Behind what?_

_You!_

As if on cue, a hollow wail shatters the peaceful silence of the mountainside. Head spinning, I whirl around to see two yellow eyes gleaming out through the darkness. But these eyes are not the same as Carca's. They are not the deep, ancient gold that I know and love. No, these eyes are different, for they are as bright and blazing as those of the Karr Lypta. Burning. Wild. And most of all, unpredictable.

The Warg lets out a low growl upon noticing Aduial held ready at my side. The metal catches on a ray of moonlight, and I angle the blade so that the beam shines in the wolf's eyes. It squints, baring its fangs in annoyance. Cold sweat begins to break out along my forehead.

_You should've saved your magic, _I think.

Suddenly, a great grey wolf springs out of the shadows to my right. Its red eyes glimmer evilly as it begins to stalk towards me.

_How many are there? _I ask Carca.

His reply is strained. _Too many._

_Where are you? I need your help._

_I am… miles away. _Our mind connection beings to waver. _You will have to… hold them off until I return._

A knot forms in my throat as two predators draw nearer. How many more lurk in the deep black? Will I be able to fight them all? Should I alert the company and risk the Wargs attacking, or face off with them and pray that they find me uninteresting?

Something brushes across my arm. My muscles clench, preparing to ward off the oncoming foe.

"Shh." Legolas's voice. "Let them make the first move." His hand on my wrist, staying the sword.

"The others," I whisper. "Should we—?"

"Gandalf is waking them now."

My heart pounds in my chest as the wolves pause midstride, only a mere ten feet away. "Why have they not attacked?"

Another Warg emerges out of the night, then another, and another, until there are nearly a dozen of them forming a wide arc about us.

Legolas doesn't answer me. There is no need for him to respond, for the reply I seek is standing right in front of me.

The Wargs are strategizing.

After a moment of standstill, one of the dark wolves begins to creep forward. Its hackles have risen into a thick ridge, its eyes narrowed into thin crimson slits. Black saliva dribbles down from its mouth and forms a darkening puddle in the snow.

Death. A single word pounding in my ears. Death.

Setting my jaw, I extend my sword out in front of me and use what little strength I have left to summon a spark of magic. It travels down from my fingertips and into the sword's blade. The metal then takes on a vibrant white hue, glowing and sparking with power.

"Go back," I order. My voice resonates throughout the mountainside, echoing off the cliffs and winding in the wind.

Death, hisses the voice.

"Go back to your Master. You are not welcome here."

DEATH!

The dark Warg lets out a bloodcurdling scream before lunging at my throat. I let out a cry and rush forward, nimbly dodging to the side as another wolf swipes at my legs. Aduial gleams with power as I slash it across the beast's neck. A sharp whistle sounds moments afterwards, and the writhing Warg is finished with an Elven arrow to the head. A roar explodes out from the pack are their comrade falls dead upon the snowy ground, and the dark wolf snaps angrily. I slash at the beast's muzzle, cringing at its yowl of pain, before plunging my sword deep into its lung. Its cries subside, replaced by a deep gurgling noise as blood bubbles up in its throat. Another scream fills the air as Legolas fells two more Wargs, the second being only inches away from pouncing me from behind. A mighty battle cry sounds out as Gimli joins in the fight.

"How many?" barks the dwarf. "How many are there?"

"A dozen, if not more," I shout back. "It is hard to tell. There is no light to guide my eyes."

Swinging Aduial round, I turn just in time to see Gandalf spear Glamdring straight through a Warg's chest cavity. The creature struggles and snaps before collapsing in a twitching mess. He, Aragorn, and Boromir guard the hobbits as best they can, having formed a wall in front of them as they fend off the blackened teeth and sharpened claws that long to sink themselves into the Ringbearer's flesh.

Looking to the front of me once more, I am met with a terrible and gruesome sight. Three more wolves have crept out from the darkness, one of them mangled and bleeding. There is a dark hole where an eye once took refuge in its face. A ball of ice seems to harden in my stomach.

Raising up my bloodied sword, I will strength to return to my tired limbs as I begin to approach my oncoming attackers. Hot flesh splatters the ground in front of me as Gimli races forward and cleaves off the foreleg of one of the beasts. Legolas silences the now maimed creature with an arrow to the skull. His long hair furls wildly about his face as he spins on heel in order to kill the third wolf in the same fashion. The elf then wrenches the weapon out of the dead creature and strings it to his bow, aiming at the one-eyed Warg.

My foe snarls menacingly and, nostrils flaring, opens its mouth to roar. It never gets its chance.

With a great cry I thrust my arm forward, plunging Aduial deep into the creature's chest. The blade melts through both bone and flesh, reducing the Warg's innards into nothing but mush. Its ravaged face pulls an expression of shock before going limp.

"To the fire! These are no ordinary wolves!" I cry, tugging the sword from its carcass. Blood splatters off from it, staining my tunic with crimson raindrops. The felled Warg's one eye is dark and unavailing, far from the hungry fire I see gleaming in the eyes of its comrades as they seep out from the night.

"Keira."

I glance over to see Legolas looking at me. A numb look of fear crosses over his features when he notes the darkening blood on my torso.

"It belongs to the Warg," I say. "Now go!"

He blinks at me, expression conflicted.

_What is he waiting for? Go!_

I am about tell him again when the elf appears to regain his bearings. He shakes his head once before rushing over to join Aragorn and Boromir in their effort to protect the hobbits. Gimli follows close behind him, his once spotless axe now tainted by battle.

"To me!" Strider shouts, then louder, "Keira, do not stand alone!"

_I come._

Upon hearing the deep voice, I grin. "Oh, but I am not alone."

And just as five Wargs leap out of the dark shadows of Caradhras, a deafening roar splits across the snowy landscape. An enormous black shape spirals down from the sky and plows head first into one of the wolves. There is a loud crack, and the beast falls backwards with a yelp. I just manage to bound out of the way as it tumbles past me. It gives one last shriek of terror before disappearing over the lip of the mountain ledge. A miniature avalanche follows in its wake. Carca spikes up his fur ridge and extends his wings, creating an imposing silhouette. The wolves yowl defiantly at him.

"Demons!" he bellows. "Filth! Run back to your master, you miserable scraps of mange! Be gone with you!"

Mad with bloodlust, one Warg makes the mistake of approaching the Breyta. Carca curls his lip in annoyance. In less than a second he has swiped the wolf's feet out from underneath it and bitten down hard on its neck. The Breyta raises up the struggling form, muttering obscenities under his breath, before flinging it to the side. And that Warg, too, meets its demise with the cliff edge.

When next Carca bares his fangs, then are reddened and wet with blood.

"Flee now, and I will spare your maggoty hides."

In a matter of moments the Wargs have spun on heel and charged away in a whirlwind of grey fur and petrified screams, leaving only the corpses of their fallen brethren for us to deal with

"Carca," I whisper. The Breyta swivels his head to look at me.

"You are safe?" he asks quickly.

"I am."

Carca breaths a heavy sigh as he strides forward to meet me. I smile in return and wrap my arms around his wide neck. A purr thrums from deep within his throat.

"I feared you to be taken from me."

"I will never leave you," he says gently.

His heartbeat drums loudly in my ears, and I pull back in order to look him in the eye.

"Where did you go?"

The Breyta stiffens a bit, the soft air about him fading away into the night breeze. "My heart told me that something was not right in the Cave. I went to see for myself."

"And?"

There is a dark pause.

"Celeb is dead."

I gape. "Dead? How?"

"Old age," says Carca. "Her life was fading away in time. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Were you…" Words fail me, and I have to take a shaky breath before continuing. "Were you with her when she…?"

"No." My companion turns his gaze down in sorrow. "I was not. By the time I arrived, her spirit had already gone to be with the Valar."

Tears well in my eyes. Celeb was more than just another Breyta. She was the one who trained me, the one who taught me how to use magic. I owe her everything. We both do.

"Keira?" I recognize the voice of Frodo. "Are you well?"

"Yes," I lie. "I am fine. Now rest up, all of you. The Wargs will not be returning."

* * *

><p>I don't cry. Not at first, anyways. I cope with my agony in a still silence as the members of the company slowly drift away into sleep. Aragorn remains on watch for an hour or two, then Boromir, then finally Gandalf. I had been the first to volunteer for guard duty, but the Ranger had dismissed the idea, saying that I had more cause to sleep than he.<p>

His sympathy is unnecessary, of course, as I will not be getting any rest tonight. My mind is elsewhere, in a world free of death and misery. It is the only place where I only myself to suffer.

Carca himself seems to have fallen into a restless slumber by the time Legolas takes up the last shift of the night. The elf remains vigilant most of the time, but occasionally he will drift off into a shallow, dream-like state which his kin consider to be rest. But he never sleeps. His eyes are always open, and his ears are always listening.

I find myself staring at the Prince's form as I lean back against Carca. His dark tunic seems to come alive in the shadows of the firelight. The flames glint off of the soft gold of his hair, casting small starry glimmers upon the ground. My eyes follow after them as they flicker to and fro along the snow, momentarily distracting me from the pain of a loss that has quickly become too great to bear. I have never felt such agony, save once, during the grey morning when my father was brought back in the cart of the dead. When the armor-clad soldiers mounded the bodies of his fallen patrol and burned them in the town square. When my fifteen year old self was forced to watch as Byron's still form was reduced to nothing but a pile of ash.

A gentle sob rocks my body. Much to my dismay, the noise alerts Legolas's sensitive ears. His shoulders grow tense as he shifts positions to look at me. I frantically paw at my cheeks, trying everything within my power to be rid of the fat tears that roll down them.

"Is something wrong?" inquires the elf.

I look up at him, blurry eyed and weary. "I don't know. Nothing's for sure anymore."

Legolas frowns before rising up from his crouched position and coming to stand before me. His features are soft with concern, an emotion that I have not seen on him for many years. My head spins wildly. Perhaps he does care for me, after all. Or at least his heart does. All Elves have an uncanny sixth-sense when it comes to the feelings of others, him especially so. He has always known if something was amiss with me. And all it takes is one look at him to see that he knows. He knows that I am in pain.

Because he was there when it hurt the most.

Something inside of me breaks. It feels like my heart. Legolas's prying eyes search my own for an explanation.

"Friends are not immortal," I say evenly. "They come and go; some out of their own wishes, others still clinging to a life that holds no more value in this world."

I don't bother continuing. I don't think I would be able to, anyway. The bitter cold has sapped away what little voice I had left.

"Tell me what troubles you, Keira. We do not need your heart being troubled for the journey ahead."

"I am alright," I croak out.

"Then why do you weep?"

"Since when does it matter to you?" My words are scathing, laced with enough venom to strike a man dead. But Legolas is no man. He is an elf. Words do not have the same effect on them.

He does not recoil. He simply watches as I cover my face with my hands and allow my shoulders to hunch forward. My eyes burn with tears that I will not let fall. I am strong now. I have to be. And strong people should not cry.

After a moment of silence, I manage to regain some composure. Tilting my head up, a look of shock flickers across my face when I see that Legolas still remains seated before me. His hair glows ghostly silver beneath the moon.

"A dear friend of mine… passed," I say quietly. "That is all there is to be said."

The elf's face darkens substantially. "I am sorry."

A dry sob hitches in my throat, but I force myself to swallow it. "Don't be. It is not your fault that I was foolish enough to leave her." I lean forward and wrap my arms around my knees. "Nothing is your fault. It is only me. Everything I do leads to nothing but death and misery."

"Why do you say such things?"

"Because they are true."

"That is not what I think."

Anger sparks within me. "Why would I care what you think, Legolas?"

His blue eyes shine brightly with sorrow. "Caradhras will have grown great indeed should it have the power to turn such a kind heart to one of ice."

"I was about to say the same thing."

"Enough," snaps Legolas. "I have had enough arguing. Are my intentions not clear to you?"

My brow furrows. "Intentions?"

"I wish to apologize," he says. "My behavior of late has not been most kind."

An overwhelming sense of rage courses through me, and I am on my feet in a matter of seconds. "So you would choose to make amends now, when I have just gone through the loss of my friend?"

"It could not wait." Legolas stands to look me in the eye. "I do not deny that I have been cruel to you. I do not deny that I have hurt you far too many times to count. All I ask is that you accept the fact that I am blemished. I have faults. And, be it your will, I would have them forgiven."

"Very poetic of you, but I'm afraid you're a bit late." Furious, I storm away towards the cliff edge. I feel Legolas's eyes following me as I go.

"Keira," he calls, then louder, "Keira!"

I pause midstride. Something in his tone makes me do so. It is a slightly higher pitch than usual, and there is a sort of urgency to it that makes me second-guess my decision to ignore him.

Legolas takes advantage of the distraction and strides up to me. "You do not believe me?" he inquires.

"Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't." At a most odd time, I laugh. "Are you really being serious?"

The elf blinks. "Since when have I been one to deceive you?"

I scoff. "Rivendell? The courtyard? 'My heart cannot bear to trust you again'?" The later sentence comes out in an attempt to copy his accent. It fails miserably. "Have you forgotten those words?"

"Quite the opposite, actually. They have been haunting my steps throughout the whole of this venture." Legolas fingers his bow. Is that anxiety I see locked away in his gaze?

"Do you mean to say that your conscience is bothering you?"

"That is true." The Prince stands nearly a head taller than me, but somehow I feel that I am the one looking down upon him. The strong, royal aspect of him seems to have deflated.

"If I am to accept your apology, this I must know first." A chilly wind gust curls down the mountain peak, and I step closer to him. "Was it just your conscience that made you change your mind?"

There is a momentarily pause before the elf continues. "Yes."

The lie is obvious. So obvious, in fact, that I am about to press him further when he nods to the campfire. I follow his gaze to see Boromir looking on at our conversation with intrigue. His grey eyes pry for knowledge, yet he turns away upon meeting my gaze.

Narrowing my eyes, I lean forward to whisper in Legolas's ear. "Later."

"Aye."

We depart then, Legolas to the fire, and me to Carca. As I walk, I am left with an empty feeling within my heart. A longing for knowledge. To know the real reason for Legolas's sudden change of mind.

But it is as my ancestors said; all will be explained in time.

* * *

><p>"Legolas did <em>what?"<em>

"Don't work yourself into a tizzy, Carca. He apologized! Isn't that good enough for you?"

The Breyta fumes audibly. "That miserable piece of Orc-scat thinks that saying sorry will make everything better, doesn't he? He wants you to forget about how he treated you? Just you wait until I get my paws on that filthy little—"

"I forgave him."

Carca whips around sharply, mane bristling. "_What?!"_

"He accepted his wrongdoings, and thus I forgave him of them."

"Oh, how lovely!" His words burn with sarcasm. "So everything is just fine now, is it? Celeb's death doesn't really matter all that much now, does it? No, not as long as you have _him."_

"Enough!" I snap. The wind muffles my voice by a good bit, but Carca acknowledges my command nonetheless by falling silent. "Celeb's passing hurts me still," I continue. "It is a wound that will never fully heal. Do not so flippantly speak of it."

A blinding flurry of snow snakes its way along the mountain trail, and I raise up my arm to shield my face from its icy teeth. Gandalf shouts something from up ahead, but I cannot hear to make out his words. Caradhras's screams are too noisy to contend with, not to mention the heaps of icy fluff we have to wade through. The hobbits are nearly neck- deep in snow, moving Aragorn and Boromir to have to carry them. Sam, however, refused to be hauled along. He would not leave Bill the pony to be cared for by another. The two of them have formed a strong bond throughout the past month. The other members of the Fellowship seem to recognize it, as well, for Gimli has taken to plowing a path for them using his axe. But the drifts grow higher with every passing hour. It won't be long before the dwarf loses strength.

Legolas is the only one who seems to be perfectly content with the traveling conditions. Being an elf, he is easily able to walk across the top crust without sinking through. Both Carca and I envy him greatly for that.

We have been hiking up the mountain's spine for half a day now, and the weather has done nothing but worsen. I have lost all sense of feeling in my face and neck. The wind is cold and relentless in its tormenting of any and all exposed flesh. It is miraculous that the hobbits have not died of such horrid conditions. After all, they are used to nothing but the warm and calm weather in the Shire. The utter opposite of Caradhras.

Carca spews out a curse as he sinks down into a puddle of frigid slush. He attempts to free himself by pumping his wings, but they do not comply. "Do not move!" I say, "You will do nothing but injure yourself. Your wings have frozen over!" I nod to the sharp icicles tipping off his feathers.

The dark wolf huffs before using his forelegs to heave himself out. "Mind your own self."

I glare at him and am just about to continue on when my ears are met with a loud and hollow voice.

"Cuiva nwalca Carnirasse; nai yarvaxea rasselya!"

"Legolas!" I shout, praying that he will hear me. "The wind speaks in foul tongues!"

"There is a fell voice on the air!" replies the elf. He looks out into the distance, posture tensed.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf cries. A deafening crack splits across the mountain above us, and Carca and I just manage to dodge out of the way as enormous pieces of ice tumble down from the cliff.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" shouts Aragorn. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

"No!" The old wizard steps up to the edge of the path and begins to chant in the same tongue, but using much more soothing words. He is trying to lull the mountain back into a calm stupor.

The fell voice returns moments later. It is much more powerful this time. Almost as soon as it fades away, a great bolt of lightning shards down from the heavens and strikes the mountain. Great mounds of snow rain down upon us, and I give a shallow yelp as we are smothered beneath the avalanche. In a last effort I lunge towards Sam, shielding him from the heavy blows. Carca extends his icy wings and manages to block a portion of the snowfall before he, too, is buried.

Drawing in a sharp breath, I begin to claw for the surface. The hard ice bites at my fingers. An unexpected wave of heat surges out from them. The snow above me is smeared with red. I give a grunt of effort before shoving my shoulder upwards. The relatively thin crust shatters from the impact, and I burst out from the frigid grave. I reach down and heave Sam up after me.

"Thank you… Lady Keira," he wheezes out. I nod to him before looking over to see Legolas emerge to my right. Following him are the four hobbits, then Aragorn, Boromir, and lastly Gandalf and Gimli. The dwarf bursts out with a roar, hacking at the ground with his axe. Bill the pony squeals with fright as Sam grabs a hold of his reigns, trying desperately to calm the animal.

"We must get off the mountain!" says Boromir, clinging onto Merry and Pippin. "Make for the Gap of Rohan, and take the West road to my city!"

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isenguard!" Aragorn counters.

Gimli is next to speak. "If we cannot pass over the mountain, then let us go under it! Let us go through the Mines of Moria!"

The company falls silent, eager to hear Gandalf's reply. The old wizard pauses, gazing off at some point beyond Caradhras, before turning to Frodo. "Let the Ringbearer decide."

Carca's head pops out from the ground, dark against the everlasting backdrop of white. "He would put such a decision on a _Shireling_?"

Sam shifts away from me at the Breyta's harsh words and goes to stand next to his friend. "Gandalf does only what he thinks to be right," I snap in reply. "The hobbit does bear the Ring of power. Naturally he would want to turn to—"

"We cannot stay here!" bellows out Boromir. "This will be the death of the hobbits!"

"Frodo?" Gandalf says. The dark-haired hobbit looks up with an anxious expression. Sam squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.

"We will go through the mines," says Frodo.

A shadow passes over Mithrandir's wrinkled face, revealing the fear that lies hidden beneath his ancient eyes. He clenches his staff until his knuckles are white with strain.

"So be it."

* * *

><p>That night, one of the last ones that we spend on the mountain, I have a dream. There is a silver wolf with golden wings, standing upon a vast cliff. It looks out upon the land before it, a desolate black valley filled with ash and smoke. Far off in the distance, a red light glows. Deep rumbles emanate throughout the earth, and the haze clears to reveal a great Eye looking upon the wolf. The silver animal appears unaffected by the fiery gaze as it turns round to look at me. Sapphire eyes bore into my own with enough intensity to make me cower. A sob catches in my throat.<p>

"Celeb?"

"Hello, Keira," purrs the Breyta.

"How is this possible?" I ask her. "Carca said that you were…"

"He was correct. The Valar have no more use of me in the land of Arda. I will go to live in Valinor with the rest of my fallen kin." A gentle breeze stirs through her glowing mane. "You no longer have need of me, my dear. I was your mentor, but now your training is complete. My life has thus been fulfilled."

"I am sorry that I could not be with you."

"Do not be. The quest at hand bears with it the fate of all Arda. The others could not afford to lose such a valuable asset. And you still have yet to reveal your true power."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing to worry about now," Celeb purrs. She nuzzles my cheek affectionately. "I came only to say goodbye to you. But know this, dear one. Not all farewells are forever." The Breyta spreads her wings and allows the wind to lift her into the air. "I will leave you now, Were-rider. A new life awaits."

"Celeb!" I call. "Must you go so soon?"

The ethereal wolf smiles down at me before gliding away with the updraft. It carries her high into the sky, far beyond the glare of Sauron's red gaze, and in an instant she has vanished amongst the clouds.

It was just a dream.

* * *

><p>How'd you like Chapter 19? I made it a bit longer to hopefully make up for the wait, but much to my dismay, it will probably be an even longer wait for 20. It's vacation time for me, so I won't be able to write this week. But don't worry, I will do my best to post as soon as possible! Just stick around, and you won't be disappointed! :)<p>

Have a good week!

xoxo

-PC


	20. Darkened

Two long days pass before the company leaves the wrath of Caradhras behind. The mountain's menacing peak to our backs serves as a reminder of the horrid experience. The hobbits tread with lighter spirits through the black wasteland leading up to Moira, grateful to be free of the frigid air. Legolas, however, remains on high alert. His elf senses are not as in tune in such dark places as these. Even Gandalf and all his confidence seems a bit shaken.

What I wouldn't give to know his mind.

The weather has thus far held out surprisingly well. By midday the sun gleams high and bright in the sky, with little to no cloud cover obscuring it. The nights are the only thing I do not like about this new land. The stars shine weaker here than they did upon the mountain. Even Elendial, as I gaze up at her now, does not seem as bright as usual.

"Look at the stars," I say to Carca. "Once they shone so brightly, but now that light has passed, replaced by a cold haze of grimness. Why is that?"

"These lands are not to be trespassed on," the Breyta replies. "Their inhabitants do not like visitors. Thus, a deep darkness has fallen upon them. Sauron's forces are gathering. It won't be long until his evil has polluted all the corners of Middle Earth."

I let out a long sigh as I lean back against him. Having flown a good bit ahead of the company, Carca and I decided to take a much needed rest beside a scraggly tree. Several familiar voices ring clear across the landscape, and although I cannot see them, I know the Fellowship is nearby.

All but Legolas seems have taken up a conversation with one another. Gimli's bellowing voice echoes across the hollow landscape, and I try not to think about how every foul beast in Arda would be alerted to his racket. But it matters not. Sooner or later the Lypta are bound to attack. We live in the constant fear of being watched by unfriendly eyes.

A lonesome howl sounds from the mountain, and Carca tenses.

"Don't bother," I tell him. "Those wolves have learned their lesson. They wouldn't dare follow us into Moria."

"Would they not?" Carca's golden eyes are filled with steel as he looks down at me. "They are servants of Sauron. Those Wargs will obey his each and every command." The Breyta swings his head over, angling his gaze towards Frodo as he emerges from the mist. "If he wants the young hobbit dead, there is no telling what horrid creatures he might send our way."

"The Lypta are just the beginning," I say with a shudder. "It won't be long before the Nine Riders return, and they will come bearing the vengeance of their master. My heart darkens with every passing hour. A shadow has befallen us all."

Carca bristles before rising to his feet. "I cannot remain here any longer. My wings grow stiff with cold. I shall scout ahead while you sleep." He gazes down at me. "Is that well with you?"

"Whatever you wish, my friend. But do not be long. Dawn will come sooner than later, and the sun will not well camouflage your dark coat."

"Look after the others," says the Breyta. "I will return within the hour."

Then, in a blur of gold and midnight feathers, Carca vanishes up into the dark sky.

Alone upon the rock on which we had both lay, I angle my chin upwards to face the heavens. A heavy cover of cloud hazes over the moon, yet still a thin pearly beam manages to creep through them. It filters down through the musty air before settling on the hilt of Aduial. The deep green gems inlaid within the metal gleam a soft teal against the black stone on which I rest. I admire their beauty in silent awe.

_The world is so ravaged by evil, yet still I take pleasure in such meager things as this?_

"Oi! Keira!"

The high voice startles me out of my thoughts, and I whip around to see Merry and Pippin scurry up next to me. The rock upon which I sit is a good two feet off the ground, and between that and my elf-like height, I easily tower a good five feet over them.

"What is it now?" I say tiredly, barely suppressing a yawn.

"Well, it was just that-" Pippin pauses mid-sentence, brow furrowed, before squinting at me. "Where's your friend?"

"Carca? Ah, you know him. He flew ahead to scout not a minute past."

"Will he be back anytime soon?" inquires Merry.

"Within the hour." I raise an eyebrow. "Why the sudden curiosity?"

"No reason, really. It's just..."

"If those Wargs do end up coming back," fills in Pippin. "we'd quite like to have him present here to help… er… send them off again."

Sliding down from the boulder, I give the hobbit a reassuring pat on the back. "Don't you worry, Pip. Those wolves won't be coming back anytime soon."

"But how do you know for sure?"

I place my hands on my knees and bend down to look him in the eye. "Peregrin Took, have I ever been one to lie to you?"

"Well... No, not really."

"Not really? How about never?"

"Alright, fine. I believe you. But could you at least come walk with the rest of us?"

I smile widely. "Of course, dear one. If that is what you wish."

* * *

><p>It doesn't take long for me to regret my decision of walking with the rest of the company. Merry and Pippin have done nothing other than pepper me with questions, subjects of which ranging upwards from my stay in Mirkwood (which Gandalf had unfortunately informed them ) to the city of Brunsfarrow.<p>

"What was it like?" asks Merry. "Your city? Was it like the Shire at all?"

"I'm afraid not. Brunsfarrow was almost entirely made out of stone. Its outer walls were surrounded by enormous barely fields that spanned out for miles on end. To the West of the city was a massive forest, inhabited by a great number of wolves that held on alliance with Brunsfarrow's people. Great rock walls were inlaid around the perimeter of the city to protect its inhabitants from unfriendly visitors. The barrier was enormous, towering up a good forty feet and stretching inwards at two and a half arm lengths. Brunsfarrow was thought to be indestructible because of it, for no weapon, whether it be flame or iron sword, could penetrate it."

There is a minute silence as the hobbits take in my words. "So what happened to it?" Pippin asks eventually.

My fingers drum along Aduial's gem-studded hilt, and I sigh. "Darkness befell it, Pippin. That is all you need know."

The Halfling looks up at me with sad hazel eyes. I find within them a sense of longing. Of desperation. He misses his home. They both do.

"Now then," I say brightly. "Let's hear about this Shire of yours! I've heard that it is quite a beautiful place."

The mood lightens almost immediately as Merry and Pippin delve into warm thoughts of their home. They describe the rolling green hills, and the luscious orchards ripe with fruit. They wax poetic about the fields of golden wheat tended to by the farmers, and how they ripple in the wind like a sea at sunset. And, of course, no description of Hobbiton would be complete without a thorough bragging of the land's renowned beer supply.

_What I wouldn't give for a mug of ale right now. Perhaps it would do some good to calm my frantic mind._

"Peace, master hobbits!" I say after a moment. "All this talk of food and drink has sent my nerves into a tizzy. Don't make me hungry when I know very well that I shouldn't be."

"Actually," begins Merry. "I think you have right to be. You haven't eaten more than a sausage all day!"

"If you're going to start pestering me about my eating habits, then I shall be gone of you. Now hush up and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the—"

Before I have a chance to finish, Pippin's foot catches on a loose stone, and he tumps forward with a yelp of surprise. I reach out and just manage to grab hold of the back of his tunic before his face makes contact with the ground. The hobbit brushes himself off indignantly.

"I do believe the rock is out to get you," I say before bursting into laughter.

"Aye, me too!" seconds Merry with a chuckle.

Smiling, I fan away at a dense cloud of mist just as a loud splashing sound grabs my attention. My brow furrows I glance over at the dark pool to my right. Wide ripples emanate outwards from its center, and small waves lap at the pebbled shoreline. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

_We are not alone here._

I am so distracted by the mysterious disturbance that I hardly notice when Carca swoops down next to me. Merry and Pippin scurry away to avoid being crushed beneath the Breyta's immense body.

"The darkness makes it difficult for me to see, but it appears that there is a large wall lying between us and…" My companion trails off upon noticing my expression. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," I say quickly, whipping around to look at him. "Did you see anything?"

Carca raises an eyebrow before continuing. "If you mean the giant cliff up ahead, than yes."

As if on cue, Gimli stops in his tracks and points. "Ah! The walls of Moria!"

The fog drifts away, revealing a massive rock face that towers high into the night sky. A numb sense of fear washes over me, though I know not why. The wall seems to have the same effect on Carca, as well. His dark mane bristles with unease.

"I do believe the word 'wall' is an understatement," I whisper to him.

"Aye."

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," boasts Gimli. He hoists up his axe and proceeds to tap it against the rock.

"Yes, Gimli!" says Gandalf gruffly. "Their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten!" The wizard storms ahead, staff rapping upon the ground at a quick pace. As he strides past, something brushes across my arm, and I look up to see Legolas standing beside me.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" he mutters. I smack him lightly on the forearm. The elf glances down at me, eyes shining a bold silver.

"Be on your guard," I tell him. "Foul things linger where darkness dwells."

"I was about to tell you the same," he replies. "Keep close the shoreline, and do not disturb the..."

There is a small splashing noise, and I crane my neck over to see Frodo yanking his foot out of the water. His expression is tight with concern and worry, as is mine.

"Dare I say that the poor hobbit has stumbled more than he has walked."

"The stones are slick," Legolas says. "And he does not have the luxury of footwear as the rest of us do."

"I worry for him. Frodo bears such an immense burden. I fear that it will overtake him as it did Gollum."

The Prince stiffens. "Before he turned into that vile creature, the hobbit Sméagol had within him a sense of greed that went deeper than bone. That is why he was so quick to lust for the Ring. Frodo does not have that same greed. I have seen nothing but kindness from him thus far."

"I hope you're right."

On that dark note, Legolas and I drop the conversation and turn to look at Gandalf. The Istari runs his hand along a smooth patch in the rock, muttering to himself.

"Ah… now let me see… Ithildin." His hand brushes away at the dirt, revealing curved patterns inlaid in the stone. "It mirrors only starlight…" Mithrandir pauses, angling his chin up to the sky. The cloud cover fades away, unveiling the ghostly light of the moon. "And moonlight." Almost as soon as he finishes speaking, the engravings begin to glow an unearthly white, revealing the swirling pattern of an ornate dwarfish door. Elvish writing glimmers to life atop its arch, and Gandalf smiles triumphantly before pointing to it with his staff.

"It reads 'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak friend and enter.'"

Pippin and Merry exchange a slightly bewildered glance, the later inquiring, "What do you suppose that means?"

_Hobbits, _I think to myself, and Carca grumbles irritably.

"Oh, it's quite simple," states the old wizard. "If you are a friend, speak the password and the doors will open." He places the end of his staff upon a small silver star near the center of the door. "Annon Edhellen, edro hi amen!"

"Gate of the Elves, open now for me," I translate. Legolas glances downwards, eyebrows raised.

"You know Elvish?"

I roll my eyes. "Celeb taught me to master the languages, to such an extent that it made my old vocabulary look quite pitiful."

"Who is this 'Celeb' you speak of?"

"A Breyta," I reply blandly.

"Similar to your companion, I take?"

"No. Not at all. They were entirely different."

"In what way?"

I whip around to face him. "Why are you so interested?"

His steely blue eyes brighten at my stinging tone. "Have you forgotten that there is a twenty years span of time since our last meeting? Forgive me for intruding on your past, but it seems to me that I have the right to know."

"Oh, so we're talking about rights now, are we?"

Legolas takes a small step back. "What is wrong, Keira? You are not usually like this."

Carca, having been listening intently to our conversation, chimes in with an opinion of his own. "She senses something, Princeling. Something that even your keen elvish ears cannot detect."

"Is that true?" the elf asks. I make to reply, but somehow no words come out. Legolas frowns and, slowly, reaches forward to grasp my forearm. Even through the armguard, I can feel the warmth from his fingertips penetrating into me. I shiver.

"Just… keep to the path," I whisper. "There is another presence here, one that has yet to reveal itself. And I don't think it takes kindly to visitors."

A strange gleam enters the Prince's eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak before being interrupted by Gandalf.

"Fennas Nogothrim, lasto beth lammen!" Again, nothing happens.

"Nothing's happening," says Pippin, glancing up at Legolas and myself.

"Give him time," the elf says gently, his deep voice vibrating in my chest.

Gandalf strides up the door and proceeds to push against it, grumbling to himself. "I once knew every spell in the tongues of elves, men, and orcs."

"Mithrandir!" I call. "Could I be of any use to you?"

"No, my dear. Your magic will do no good against the deep spell inlaid within this rock."

"What're you going to do, then?" chirps Pippin.

_Here we go again…_

Gandalf explodes. "Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and I'm allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words."

"There now, lad," I say, placing a hand on the dejected hobbit's shoulder. "You mustn't take him seriously. Let us go sit upon the rocks and give Mithrandir the peace that he deserves."

* * *

><p>A boring and very uneventful half-hour passes by as Gandalf struggles to open the dwarfish doors. His throat has long since gone hoarse from all the chants and spells he has recited. It pains me just to listen to him.<p>

Carca and I reside under one of the two trees towering up on either side of the door. Boromir rests several feet in front of us, with Frodo and Gimli sitting beneath the opposite tree. Legolas stands at high alert near the water's edge, peering out into the murky unknown. I am moved to go join him, but something tells me that I would be better off watching his back. There's no telling what foul creatures lurk in the abyss before us, and I prefer to take precautions.

Meanwhile, over to our right, Aragorn and Sam have taken up the solemn duty of unharnessing Bill the pony. As Strider has said moments earlier, the mines are no place for such a gentle creature as a pony, even one with as much bravery and wits as Bill.

"Bubye, Bill," Sam says, stroking the animal's nose.

"Go on," says Aragorn, patting Bill's flank gently. The pony nickers lowly before turning round and vanishing into the night. "Don't worry, Sam," continues the Ranger. "He knows the way out."

Carca snorts obnoxiously. "He expects a pony to make it out of this valley alive? What a feat that would be…"

"Hush up, you!" I exclaim. "Sam could hear!"

"Well wouldn't that just be a tragedy? That man needs to stop filling his head with hopeful dreams. Life in the wilderness is not pretty, nor is it safe. Nature will take its course, just as it always has."

"Bill is a smart little beastie. You never know, he might just..."

"… become a midnight snack for the crows."

"_Dol gin lost_."

Carca's ears perk slightly. "Is that a challenge?"

I prepare to counter his accusation when, suddenly, I catch onto a movement out of the corner of my eye, and I look over my shoulder to see Merry pelt a stone out into the dark pool. Dread settles in my stomach like a ball of hard ice, and I leap to my feet in order to intervene. Thankfully, Aragorn beats me to it.

The man lunges forward and grabs hold of Pippin's elbow before he has a chance to throw his own rock. "Do not disturb the water," Aragorn says warningly. I shoot him a concerned frown. Averting his gaze from the hobbit, the Dunedain's knowing eyes bore into mine with a fiery intensity. In no other gaze have I felt such power, save only one. Elrond's. The two of them are similar in many ways. After all, it was Elrond who raised him to become the man he is today.

And that fact makes me miss the elf lord all the more.

"Oh, it's useless," says a frustrated Gandalf, throwing down his staff. He sits heavily upon the ground and takes off his pointed hat. Boromir hoists himself to his feet before coming to stand beside Aragorn. Sensing their disarray, I, too, come to join them. Together the three of us watch as ripples spread out across the water.

"Something is in there," I say darkly.

"Yet it remains unseen," Boromir says, fingering the hilt of his sword.

"It's a riddle!"

Frodo's call alerts me, and I turn round to see the hobbit step up to the doorway. "Speak friend… and enter! What's the Elvish word for friend?"

"Mellon," Gandalf and I say in sync. Suddenly, markings brighten, and a deep rumbling noise ensues as the twin doors swing open. My heart leaps.

_Let us be rid of this dreadful place!_

Mithrandir, having retrieved his staff, is the first to enter, followed quickly by a very eager Gimli. The hobbits trail after them like miniature shadows.

"Come, Carca," I say, striding forth towards the Breyta. "I do not wish to liger here."

The Breyta nods in agreement, and I take a deep breath as we make for the mine.

Gimli's voice booms up ahead of us. "Soon, master elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone!"

"He's a vegetarian," I mutter under my breath, and Carca chuckles just as the shadows of Moria overcome us, and he melts into the darkness of night.

Upon entering the hollow chamber, my nose is immediately met with a foul, stuffy smell. The only sound to be heard is the constant rapping of our footsteps; the dwarves' boisterous voices have long since vanished into the ages, leaving behind a bleak and haunting silence. Gandalf cups his palm around the top of his staff and blows upon it gently. The crystal within it flickers dimly to life, and I freeze midstride.

"This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin," Gimli continues, oblivious to the horror up ahead. "And they call it a mine. A _mine_!"

"This is not mine," says Boromir, looking forward with a vacant expression. "It's a tomb."

Before us lies a great staircase, with skeletal bodies strewn upon it in countless piles. Swords and axes, hewn helms and arrows. All means of weaponry litters the ground beneath our feet, their steely scent intermingled with the odor of stinking bones. Mummified dwarfish bodies extend their boney hands for aid that never came to them, ancient fingers threaded with cobwebs. The hobbits each let out horrified gasps, and Gimli lets out a great cry of sorrow.

Legolas reaches down and snatches an arrow from the eye socket of a nearby body. He inspects its tip with a disgusted expression before turning to look ahead. "Goblins," he hisses, tossing the foul object aside. Fear grips my heart. There must have been a great number of them in order to cause this much damage.

I unsheathe my sword, Aragorn and Boromir following suit, and close my eyes.

"_Faina e Elendial,_

_Kala ter i loome."_

A blue light begins to swirl from my fingertips and into Aduial. The bright Elvish metal begins to glow as it did during the battle with the Wargs. If any goblins are present in these halls, the light might help to ward them off. The sight of anything pure terrifies them.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan," says Boromir lowly. "We should never have come here." The hobbits begin to scuffle backwards, their expressions panicked.

"Do not blame this on Frodo," I say sharply. "How could he have known?"

The Gondorian shoots me a scathing look before turning back to the Halflings. "Now get out of here. _Get out!"_

All at once the company retreats towards the doorway, the hobbits being in the lead. They pause only briefly to wait for the rest of us, panting from the sheer terror of the moment. Then, suddenly, an immense feeling of dread settles over me. My legs seize with terror, and I let out a piercing scream of, "Frodo!" just as the young hobbit is yanked off his feet. He gives a shout of fright, and his kin struggle to clamber after him as he is drug down to the shoreline. The moonlight glints off of the slimy surface of a grey tentacle that has wound its way about his ankle.

"Strider!" Sam shouts. "Keira!"

Aragorn and I exchange a panicked glance before sprinting towards the entrance. Sam begins to hack at the tentacle, screaming, "Get off him, you!" After several tries, the blade finds its mark. It cuts through the tip of the grotesque limb, nearly severing it in two. The tentacle flails violently as it retracts back into the water. Frodo struggles to regain his footing as his kinsman drag him back towards the doors. Not a moment later, nearly a dozen tentacles identical to the first burst out from the water. They wrap themselves around the small Shirelings and raise them high into the air, kicking and screaming as they are.

"To me, Carca!" I yelp. The dark wolf sprints up beside me, claws rapping against the stone floor. Heart pounding, I grab hold of the saddle before swinging myself onto his back. I raise up my sword, and the Breyta lets out a screeching roar as he explodes out through the doorway. Aragorn joins in with a war cry of his own as he bears down upon the mass of tentacles. With one pump of his powerful wings, Carca sends us spiraling up into the air. His form vanishes instantly into the night, save the bright glow of Aduial, and the water-creature is oblivious to us as we rain down from the sky. Carca howls defiantly before slamming headfirst into one of the monster's many limbs. Between the fury his fangs and my sword, the tentacle is reduced to a sizzling nub. Blue flames lick at its severed flesh, and the hidden beast gives a howl of pain. Legolas sends an arrow flying into the swirling mass of grey, and it finds its mark in the appendage that holds Merry aloft. The hobbit falls with a cry before being caught in the arms of Boromir. The one that bears Frodo, however, is more reluctant to return him, even with Carca and I's combined forces hacking apart at its flesh.

"Release them!" I holler. "Go back into the abyss!'

The water surges powerfully, and a massive grey body surfaces from the foam. Its beady black eyes are filled with hatred and venom as its arms begin to lower Frodo down towards its fanged mouth. A breathless cry of, "Legolas!" escapes my lungs just as a flailing arm slams straight into Carca's right wing. A horrible crunch resounds, and the tentacle wraps itself around its base before wrenching it impossibly sideways. Carca screams in agony, and my eyes widen as I see the white bone protruding out from his joint. A great amount of blood spurts out from the wound, dripping down into the water. The white foam shifts to a grizzly shade of crimson.

"No!" I wail. "No, Carca!_ No_!"

The dark Breyta groans as his eyes loll back into his head. His uninjured wing shudders to a standstill, and I give a bitter shriek as we plummet down to earth.

"Carca, wake up!" I shake his neck with one hand and summon magic into the other. Tendrils of white light spread out from my fingertips and into his broken wing, binding together the wounded tissue and bone. The wolf does not react. "Please, you have to wake up! _Carca!" _My voice breaks horribly, and I give a yell of pain as my body struggles to supply energy to heal the terrible wound. Bloody tears begin to snake out from the corners of my eyes, and just as the last bit of magic has threaded itself into him, Carca's eyes snap open. He blinks, momentarily bewildered.

Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I force myself to find my voice. "Wings, Carca! Spread your wings!"

The Breyta furrows his brow as the water spirals closer and closer. Then, in a single, fluid motion, Carca extends his dark wings to break our fall. Their feathered tips skim across the water as the wolf zeroes in on our nemesis. Flooded with renewed energy, I extend my still-glowing palm and sent a shard of lighting blasting into the beast's agape mouth. At the same time, a feathered arrow plunges itself into one of its eyes. The water creature throws its head back in pain, limbs whipping this way and that. Aduial finds its mark in more than one fleshy tentacle before slicing off the one holding Frodo. The young hobbit gives a cry as the slimy thing slips from his waist, and with a shout of astonishment, he falls. Carca narrows his eyes in concentration as he maneuvers himself through the maze of grey, sharp gaze locked onto the Ringbearer. He tucks in his wings and plunges into a tight barrel-roll before swooping upwards to catch the falling hobbit by the back of his tunic. I give a sigh of relief as I reach forward and grab Frodo's shoulder, lifting his small form onto Carca's back.

"Thank you," he says breathlessly. I hug his body tight to my chest.

"Always, Frodo."

Not a moment after I have finished speaking, Carca has landed on the stony shore and is ushering the company back into the mines. Sam and Pippin, having escaped the monster's wrath as well as their kin, make no hesitation as they scurry inside. I slide down from Carca's saddle, keeping Frodo hidden behind me as I gaze out at the beast in the water. In a fit of rage, it has begun to heave itself up onto land.

"Keira!" Gandalf shouts. I turn towards him, having been snapped out of my fear-spell, and grab Frodo's hand.

"Carca, come on!" I yell. The Breyta bounds after me as I sprint for the doors, tugging the Halfling after me. The water beast bellows in agitation and begins to slam its many arms into the entrance. Pieces of rock crumble down from the walls, and I extend on arm out to shield the Ringbearer from the debris. I wince as a particularly nasty piece slices a cut across my eyebrow. Blood begins to cloud my eye, and I rely on nothing but my hearing and touch to guide me into the dark mountain.

Suddenly, my foot catches on a chip in the stone floor, and I stumble. With only one hand to break my fall, attempting to catch myself does more to harm me than assist me. Sharp particles of rock stab into my fingertips, and my palm grows hot and sticky. Frodo tries to help, but the thick dust makes it impossible for him to see me in clarity.

"Run, Keira!" Something hard slams into my back, launching both me and Frodo several feet forward. It takes me only a moment to realize that it was Carca. Gandalf's staff glows to life, illuminating the Breyta's golden eyes only moments before they are smothered by the dust. The last I see of his black form is the glinting feathers on his wingtips as he retreats back towards the shore. And then he is gone.

"_Carca!_"

My broken scream echoes through the dark room, meshing with the dull rumble of rocks as they tumble down from the mountainside. Wrenching my hand from Frodo's, I dash forward and slam my palms into the rock. My shoulders burn as I shove at the stone, willing the pile to collapse. But it is no use. The boulders are too large and too heavy for me to lift. And, having used up all the energy within me in the fight with the water monster, I cannot rely upon my magic. In one last desperate resort I begin to pound on the barrier, splitting my knuckles but feeling no pain.

My mind calls out to him, screaming his name, willing him to reply. A dull buzz thrums in my ears, but no voice follows it. The thick rock makes it nigh impossible for our telepathic connection to succeed.

"Carca," I whimper, sliding down the wall until I lay crumpled on the floor. "Carca." Rivers of red wind down my injured hands and onto my wrists as I press my temple against the rocks. There is blood everywhere. Splattered onto my riding vest, dripping down from my face, glued to the stone in the form of handprints. Carca's blood, too, but unlike my own it has long since dried.

A long, agonizing moment passes before I register the hand on my shoulder. Looking up, my eyes are met with the pale gaze of the Elven prince.

"Keira," he says gently. "We dare not linger here. Your friend will find us on the other side."

"What other side? We're in a mine, Legolas." I glance over to where his fingers are clenched on my riding vest. "There is no other side."

"There must be some way of exit!" cries Pippin.

"And there is, young Peregrin," Gandalf says, eyeing me sadly. "But it is a three days walk from here. We have but one choice." The wizard turns, his staff illuminating the staircase of the dead. "We must face the dark depths of Moria."

A deep shudder runs up my spine, and Legolas stiffens slightly. As we both harbor elvish blood, we prefer lighter places rather than the underground. Something about the world's deepest places unsettles us.

"Keira," repeats Legolas. "Come. Gandalf will not wait."

"Carca's out there," I say. "I cannot leave him."

The elf sighs as he kneels down before me. "What would he want? For you to stay here and wallow in self-pity, or to help guide the company?"

He's right. Of course he is. Carca is not dead; I feel his presence, even if I cannot see him. He would not want me mourning over such a petty thing.

Legolas watches me for a moment, observing my reaction. Then he reaches forward, and before I know it his fair hands take hold of my own bloody ones. Even that simple touch sends prickles through my fingertips. No matter how hard I try to ignore it, Legolas has always managed to bring out a side in me that even I had never known existed. I am drawn to him, though I know not why. A strange magnetic pull that makes me want to slap him and embrace him all at the same time.

And it is because of that feeling that I allow him to help me to my feet.

"Your hands need binding," he says, inspecting the thin cuts before turning his gaze to my face. Upon noticing the slice on my brow, he frowns. "Hold still." He releases one of my hands in order to reach into his tunic pocket. He fishes around for a moment before pulling out a small bundle of cloth. Cupping my face in his palm, Legolas gently wipes at the cut on my forehead, then at the ruby tears on my cheeks. Once he finishes, I allow myself to look at him.

"Thank you," I whisper. "You didn't have to do that."

He does not reply but instead glances ahead. "Come now. I will bind your hands while we walk."

* * *

><p>The hours dwindle away slowly in the darkness of Moria. Gandalf leads us deep into the dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf, through the winding staircases and dark tunnels. The mood of the company has slowly begun to shift as times passes. I can't help but wonder if I have something to do with it. After all, my state of mind is very bleak at the moment. Without Carca by my side, I feel strangely helpless. His strength is often what keeps me going.<p>

It is impossible to tell when the dawn comes, as no light is able to penetrate Moria's thick walls. Thus it is only by Gandalf's consent that we are given the proper time to rest. My feet, having been used to walking on softer earthen ground, had begun to grow sore from the long trek. It is an immense relief to give them a break, however short it may be.

Sam refrains from cooking. The mines may seem empty, but Orcs or Goblins may be lurking around virtually anywhere in the dark abyss. Their keen noses would smell the scent of sausages in no time flat. To avoid such an occurrence, the hobbit settles on handing out leftover bread.

While the rest of the company takes to the loaves eagerly, I am barely able to nibble on the edges. The thick wheat tastes about as good as wood shavings. Strangely, I find myself missing squirrel meat. Which then again brings me back to the subject of Carca.

Legolas seems to notice my disposition and comes to sit beside me.

"How fare your hands?"

I glance down at the thick bandages winded around my palms and nod. The elf quirks an eyebrow.

"I am not convinced."

"They are fine, Legolas." Desperate to avoid further conversation, I take a rather large bite of the bread loaf. It dissolves into dusty crumbs in my mouth, and I grimace.

"You worry for him," Legolas says softly.

Swallowing hard, I reply lowly, "More than that. I fear for him."

"From what I've seen and heard from you, I would assume that he is more than capable of taking care of himself."

"Maybe so, but what of his mind?" I angle my knees to face the Prince before looking him in the eye. "I am his keeper, Legolas. It is my duty to protect him, and he me. His heart has been riddled with despair and hatred. And with Sauron's forces drawing ever closer, I fear that it might become him."

Legolas frowns. "Have you consulted Gandalf in this matter?"

"The wizard may be wise, but even he cannot know what is to become of him."

Leaning back into the rock wall behind me, I send out a mind call to Carca. My efforts will be futile, of course. The walls of Moria are too thick for even the greatest mind to penetrate. Nothing sounds in return but the ever present buzz in my ears.

Frustrated and angered, I clench my fists. My eyes begin to burn, at first with tears, but then with something more.

"Keira?"

Upon looking over at me, Legolas's expression shifts drastically. "Your eyes!"

I sigh. "I know. They do this sometimes."

"Valar forbid, they glow most brightly!"

"What color?"

The elf cocks his head.

"What color are they, Legolas?"

"Golden." He squints, as if blinded. "Golden as the sun."

His words stop me in my tracks, and I sit up abruptly. "_Golden?"_

"Yes."

I raise my eyebrows "That's new."

"You act as if this is a regular occurrence, yet I have never seen such a thing before."

"It only happens about once every few months." I smirk. "Always when I get angry. I don't really know why they do it. Celeb never got the chance to explain it to me."

The Prince draws back slightly. "Celeb. Is she the friend you told me of all those nights ago? The one you said went away."

"Yes."

His features darken. "I'm sorry. I should not have pressed."

"No, no. Actually, it feels better to say it. Out loud. To…" I glance away, then back at him. "To you. I know you, Legolas, and sometimes I feel that…"

"What is it, Keira?"

Gathering up my courage, I allow the words to tumble out. "You're the only one I can trust."

Ashamed when the elf makes no response, I drop my gaze down to my lap. Perhaps it was too soon to say such a thing. Too soon.

"And you are the only soul who knows my heart."

I look up at him, stunned. His eyes glimmer with the yellow reflection of my own, shining like sapphires admist the dark, and suddenly I feel lost again. Like that girl in the forest, stumbling through the snow, not sure about anything. Alone, yet not alone. Wayward, but still breathing. Am I breathing? Am I even alive?

This must be a dream. Surely it must be. For how else could such perfection dwell upon this earth?

Then it hits me. The courtyard. The moonlight. His heart beating in rhythm with mine. Leaning in, wishing for something that would never happen. The pain. The tears. The sleepless night spent only with the bitter cold of rejection.

_What am I doing?_

Blinking, I pull back sharply. The burning in my eyes subsides, and the moment fades away into the musty air of the abandoned cavern. Legolas mumbles something to me, but I don't hear him. I can't hear anything but the sound of my own heart-beat. So loud and lonely that I'm afraid that his sensitive ears might hear it. He casts one last icy look at me before getting to his feet and making his way over to Aragorn. Does he understand? Could he even begin to know why I am this way? Maybe someday, if I live until then, I might be freed from my bondage, and then I can tell him. But in my mind echo the hollow words of Carca.

"_You must never be allowed to love."_

Back then, I defied him. Now I believe him. I cannot grow close to anyone, much less one that has caused me so much strife. Granted, I love Carca, but it is a different kind of love. A necessary love that came with the binding honor of becoming the Were-rider. But my heart cannot bear the weight of another love. There is already too much on my shoulders, and to bear the burden of a relationship would likely be my breaking point.

But still my heart pleads differently. It begs me to listen to it, to let it guide my steps for just a little while. To fill this empty void within me, this black abyss that has taken over my soul and festered within the corners of my mind. Duty before love. Duty before heart. Duty above all. At least that is what I was told.

Should I believe it? I don't know. I want to know.

I will never know. Because no matter what I do, someone is always going to get hurt.

Being the Were-rider doesn't feel like a blessing anymore.

It feels like a curse.

But it is a curse that I will have to bear until the end of time itself.

* * *

><p>Hello again, everyone! It feels good to be writing again... hopefully you all liked the new chapter! Oh, and I have an announcement to make! I made a fan-trailer for "The Wayward Shadow" on Youtube! If y'all want to, you should check it out! It is by no means professional, but I just felt like making something that might give it justice! Just search for "The Wayward Shadow: a LotR Fanfiction Trailer" and it just come up!<p>

Thank you again for reading, lovelies! I have missed you dearly!

-PC


	21. Sacrificed

**I'm back, everybody! Sorry for the wait... life's been crazy! Hopefully this longggg chapter makes up for it!**

* * *

><p>The sun. So brightly does it burn, though concealed by the grey clouds of desolation. Its white light shines still through the darkness, but its color is not as vibrant as those of the flames that lick at Brunsfarrow's walls. They are tall and thick, like prying fingers, inching their way into the city. Screams and shouts echo in my ears as people stampede through the courtyard, tripping over one another to escape the heat. Thick black smoke wafers through the air as I huddle in the corner of the stables. It burns my lungs and clogs my nose, constricting me like a snake would its prey. The horses are terrified. They buck and rear and scream with fear as the howls of Orcs draw closer. My own horse, Judo, stands beside me, looking out at the carnage before us. Her amber eyes are wide with terror.<p>

"We have to go," I tell her. "Before they see us."

A ragged cry fills the air, and I look ahead just in time to see a man skewered through by an Orc spear. He lies writhing on the ground in his last death throws, his blood staining the speckled stone of the courtyard crimson. A passerby pauses, reaching down to help him, and I look away. By showing compassion, they have just sold themselves to death. Judo snorts as I hoist myself onto her back. Gripping onto the reigns, I turn her round just as the west section of the ceiling crashes down. Rafters engulfed with flames slam down just inches in front of us, and I let out a yelp of shock. Judo rears up in fright.

"Come on, Judo!" I shout, snapping the leather across her neck. The horse reluctantly falls back down onto all fours before leaping over the burning wreckage. The garbled sound of Black Speech joins with the wails of innocents as the city's walls come tumbling down, and Orcs pour in like a river of black. I glance back over my shoulder and watch as men and women are cut down by the dozens. The soldiers try to fend the beasts off, but they are all but helpless. It is thirty of them versus over five times as many Orcs. Brunsfarrow has become a slaughterhouse. Judo seems to sense the danger, as her pace quickens into a thundering gallop. The south side of the stables draws closer and closer until at last we spring free of the burning building. Hooves clap against stone as Judo weaves her way through the throngs of terrified citizens. One woman extends her newborn infant to me, begging and weeping for me to take it with me. Tears well up in my eyes upon seeing her distress, but she is enveloped in the crowds before I can make a reply. Slapping the reins once more, I usher Judo down the winding cobblestone road. Some unlucky people do not part ways for her soon enough, and the horse's forelegs knock them to the ground.

_Remember what Father told you. Remember what he told you._

The further we make it down the road, the more blood begins to stain it.

_What would he want you to do?_

The faster we run, the more fire seems to sprout from the roofs of buildings.

_What did Father tell you, Keira? What did he tell you?_

Bodies. So many bodies. Burned, bleeding, dying bodies. There are too many to count.

"Faster, Judo!"

The mare whinnies as she stumbles over a fallen corpse. Moments after, she has regained her footing, but we have lost precious time. The Orcs have caught onto our scent.

"The horse!" screams one. "After the horse, you filthy maggots!"

A guttural howl splits my ears, followed closely by a loud padding noise. Wargs. The Orcs have brought along the wolves of the mountain to help finish us off.

"Judo! Please, run!"

Something in the tone of my voice triggers the horse's mind. She surges forward, no longer caring about the people around us. Her survival instinct has kicked in. To make any hesitation would mean certain death. Chest heaving, she leaps over the piles of bodies strewn about the roadway just as the barrier wall comes into view. It is still several hundred feet away, with a long stretch of grassland lying between us and freedom. Our pursuers bay and yowl, but Judo's pace is too fast for them to keep up. Not a moment later, we have lost them around another bend.

_So close. We're going to make it._

Judo has just sprung into the wheat field when the first wave strikes. Crows, dozens of them, appear from over the west peak of the Ash Mountains. Their ebony feathers glint like daggers in the burning sunlight as they begin to rain down on the population. Claws extended, they strike hard into Judo an me. Their steely talons rake down my arms and legs, carving deep abrasions into the skin. I flail wildly, desperate to throw them off. Judo screams as one bird digs at her eyes. Blood dribbles out from a deep slash in my forearm as I whip the horse into full gallop. Her hooves, stained red with blood, pound into the earthen ground as we sprint for the wall, the crows hot on our heels. Countless screams meet my ears as the evil birds move into the city. Somewhere far behind us, a loud crash resounds, followed closely by the groans of Brunsfarrow as its last defenses fall to the Orcs.

* * *

><p>The vivid dream leaves me hot and sticky with sweat upon waking. My eyelids feel as if they have been lit on fire. The same fire that had engulfed my city and reduced it to ashes. Voices begin to fill my ears as I come to, and I blink several times right as a curly head pops into view. Startled, I draw back sharply.<p>

"Pippin!" whispers Merry harshly.

"Sorry," mumbles the young hobbit. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"If you didn't mean to wake me…" I yawn and push myself up into a sitting position. "Then what on earth are you up to?"

"No good, I suppose. At least, that's what Gandalf always says."

I raise an eyebrow, hoping for an honest answer.

"Alright!" cries Pippin finally. "I was just curious as to why you were talking."

"Ever heard of a dream, Pippin?"

"I don't believe talking was the right word. You were shouting," Merry says. "I'm surprised the others haven't woken up already." He glances back over his shoulder. "Well, that is, except for Legolas. He doesn't really sleep at all, if you ask me."

I smile. "That's very observing of you, Master Merriadoc."

Even in the darkness, I can see a blush come over his cheeks.

Grunting, I rise up onto my feet and stretch out my sore muscles. "Do you happen to have any clue as to what time it is?"

"None at all," Merry replies. "Only Gandalf would know, and he isn't yet awake."

"Am I not?"

The two hobbits whip around, gasping in surprise upon seeing the tall silhouette of the Mithrandir towering over them. The wizard chuckles in amusement. "We best be off soon. Come, help me wake the others. Our first day in Moria has begun."

* * *

><p>Something isn't right. I felt it the moment we stepped foot into these mines. The air is sour with death and decay, and the very ground on which we trod reeks of Orc filth. Even the incredible Dwarfish architecture, as much as it is beautiful, seems nothing but grim.<p>

Gimli has sunken into a quiet state of depression while the rest of us make uncomfortable small talk. Frodo shadows Gandalf for most of the time, his big blue eyes clouded with fear and distrust. Every time I try to draw near to him, I can't help but note the way that he shies away from me. I've all but given up on approaching the Halfling.

Legolas and Aragorn tend to converse near the front of the group, trailed by Gimli and the three remaining hobbits. I walk alone, with only Boromir in my company. And, in all honesty, he is the last person I would be tempted to approach. On friendly terms, that is.

And so, Gandalf leads us deep into the stony heart of Moria. We travel through wide-mouthed tunnels and across narrow bridges stretching over impossibly large chasms. Abandoned mining centers, littered with chains and ladders and all kinds of debris, make for a dark and dull venture. I find myself wishing to seek out Legolas's company, but cannot bring myself to approach him. After the awkward situation the night before, we might be best off maintaining our distance from each other.

As the day goes on without much to entertain us, Merry and Pippin have fallen into a state of quiet much unlike them. Neither one has spoken a word in several hours when we arrive at the chasm. My stomach knots itself into a ball upon noting the sheer drop up ahead.

"Not keen of heights?"

I whip around to see Boromir standing beside me. His eyes flicker down to where my fingers rest upon Aduial's hilt, then back to my face. We stand in silence fof a short moment before I respond.

"No, I am not." Boromir looks at me expectantly. I swallow hard. "And yourself?"

"I am not fond of them either." Upon noticing the odd look I give him, the Gondorian straightens his shoulders. "A man of my stature should not have fear of such meager things, yet I have never quite been able to be rid of it. To this day I do not like straying too close the Minas Tirth's steep walls." He sighs. "But I do not lie when I say that I would very much like to now. I feel sometimes as though the White City is nothing more than a vague thought in the back of my mind. It nags at me sometimes, being away from my duties for so long."

"Your duty is with the Fellowship," I say strongly. "Do not forget that. You are needed here far more than you are at Gondor."

"And if I die? What then? Would my title as Captain be given to some lowly peasant that could hardly be deemed worthy?"

I frown. "You disrespect your father with such talk, Boromir. Do you or do you not have a brother that could bear such a title if need be?"

The man looks over at me, his stormy eyes guarded. "You speak of Faramir?"

"Is that a problem?"

Boromir pauses, minding his tongue. "Not at all. It is just that I have missed him greatly during these dark hours. I pray that I will get to see him again."

"You will, Boromir."

"And how would you know that?" he snaps, stopping abruptly. The sudden anger in his voice surprises me, and I draw back several paces. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Legolas look over his shoulder.

Swallowing hard, I am careful to monitor my tone. "We all will meet again someday, when the last war has been fought, and the final foe has been slain. In another life we will once again be reunited, if not in this one."

"And good will always triumph over evil? Is that really what you believe?"

"No." Ignoring my mind's protests, I step up to him. "I believe that everything has its end, and it is our duty to ensure that the forces of darkness meet theirs first."

"You speak in riddles," hisses Boromir. "My ears are plagued by the poison in your words."

"And mine also, Boromir, should they hear that such a brave man of Gondor was reduced to a coward in a matter of days!"

"Silence from you!" The man grips my wrist with strong fingers as he raises up a hand, his leather glove shining like steel. I prepare for the sting of hard cloth against skin. Carca is not here. My magic is weak. His grip is horribly strong.

I am completely and utterly helpless.

"Oi! You there!" In an instant Boromir has released me, and I look over to see Gimli standing before us with his axe in hand. Towering up beside him, bow nocked and drawn, is Legolas. His blue eyes are a raging fire as he fingers the bowstring, the arrow tip aimed directly at Boromir's forehead. Aragorn hovers a respectable distance behind his elf-friend, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword just as mine was. What a shock it must be for the Gondorian to be suddenly thrust onto the spear's end.

Gimli glares up at him. "Leave the lass be, or you'll have my axe to answer to."

"I… I meant her no harm," stammers the man, glancing over at me. The angry look in his eye has faded, replaced by fear and confusion. Their grey depths beg me for aid.

"Peace," I whisper, and though my voice is no louder than a breeze, both Gimli and Legolas lower their weapons. "Boromir and I have settled our differences. There is no need for violence."

"You were going to strike her, were you not?" seethes Legolas. By now, the entire group has turned round to look at us. Gandalf gazes back at me with sad eyes, while Merry and Pippin look on with baffled expressions.

"No!" gasps Boromir. "I would never…"

"I've heard enough from you," growls Gimli. "The only thing keeping young Princeling here from sticking an arrow in your gob is Keira." Legolas seems a bit taken aback by the title, but his expression remains unmoving. I look up at him and watch as he slowly slides the arrow back into its quiver. His jaw hardens upon meeting my nervous gaze, but his eyes are gentle.

"Keep your distance from her," the elf says, "and heed my words well, as you will not be given this choice again." He then looks to me before extending out a hand. My legs are stiff with fear, but I force them to function as I take several shaky steps towards him. My palm slides into his with ease, and Gimli snorts in irritation before turning and heading back towards the group. Legolas, too, makes towards the rest of the Fellowship, with me in tow.

"Legolas, I'm sorry, I didn't know it would go so far…"

"You will walk with me," says the Prince, gripping my hand tighter. "I see now that without your companion, you are as helpless as an orphaned fawn."

"Fawns don't have magic and swordsmanship at their disposal."

"Perhaps not, but they do have one advantage that you seem to lack." Legolas pauses midstride, spinning me round until I am facing him head on. "When fawns see a wolf, what do they do?"

I make no reply, as words seem to have failed me.

He glances over to Boromir, then back at me. "They hide from it, not approach it."

"Something is wrong with him," I say urgently. "Something that has to do with the Ring. You saw how he acted on the mountain. This is not the real Boromir that we are seeing. The Ring has begun to possess him."

"You are foolish, Keira. Foolish and blind."

"If I am blind as you say, then why is there doubt in your gaze?"

Legolas narrow his eyes until they are nothing more than menacing slits of sapphire. "The only doubt I have is that you truly believe what I say."

"Of course I believe you, Legolas!"

"Then give me the closure to know that you will stay as far away from him as is possible."

Sighing, I look down at our entwined hands and nod. "I will abide."

There is a small silence following my words. We remain standing there, unmoving, until I feel his thumb stroke across the top of my hand. It is a brief thing, hardly even a touch, but even so I am able to get such an immense joy from it that I can hardly remember to breathe.

There are words stuck in my throat now; words that I cannot bear to say aloud. Words that have been trapped inside of me for far too long but never long enough.

"Come. The Fellowship awaits."

Blinking slowly, I gaze up at his fair complexion and smile.

"Agreed."

* * *

><p>"The wealth of Moria is not in gold, or jewels, but in Mithril."<p>

Gandalf's voices echoes from up ahead as we walk along the narrow path running along an enormous cliff side. The wizard places his hand on the stone walls, taking in the thin silver veins that snake through the rock. They glitter like the very stars themselves, and I feel my mouth fall agape. Gandalf lowers his staff, allowing it to shine down into the chasm bellow. The company looks on in awe at the ancient mining equipment nestled into the walls. Several buckets are filled to the brim with the shimmering jewels. At first, the beauty of the Mithril is mesmerizing, but my stomach soon gives a fierce lurch, and I have to look away.

"Bilbo had a shirt of Mithril rings that Thorin gave him," the grey wizard continues.

"Oh! That was a kingly gift," exclaims Gimli.

"Yes. I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire!" I snicker quietly, earning some odd glancing from the hobbits.

As we walk, the path begins to meld into a staircase, steepening with every step. Eventually, we are all forced to climb with both our hands and feet. Legolas glances back every now and then, checking to make sure that I am still behind him. His eyes catch onto the remnants of the Mithril light in a beautiful spectacle of blue and silver. I resist the impulse to stare.

Suddenly, a sharp cry of "Pippin!" sounds from bellow us. I look down to see the young hobbit stumble on a particularly large step. The thought of him falling to his doom sends terror coursing through me, and I extend back a hand. He takes hold of it gratefully, fingers sweaty from exertion and panic. I help to lift him up some before continuing on my way.

Gandalf gives a grunt as he heaves himself up the final step. He moves surprisingly well for his ancient age, being it takes Legolas and me quite a bit longer to reach the top. But just as I am about to push myself up onto the rock platform, Mithrandir's grim words fill my ears.

"I have no memory of this place."

_Fantastic…_

* * *

><p>A half-hour and an age later, the Fellowship has settled down on the stone outcropping while Gandalf ponders over our predicament. Before us lie three doorways, one leading left, one leading right, and one leading straight. All are dark and filled with a mysterious gloom.<p>

"Are we lost?" inquires Pippin.

"No," Merry replies.

There is pause. "I think we are."

"Shh! Gandalf's thinking!" insists Sam.

"Oi!" I mutter. "Knock the fellow upside the head, if that'll speed him up any faster!"

Something scuffles beside me. Legolas. The elf has been acting like my sentry ever since the rather unpleasant interlude between myself and Boromir

"You don't have to stand next to me, you know," I say blandly.

"I will do what I feel is right."

I roll my eyes. "I really don't think Boromir would have hit me. He was just angry, and I was wrong to push him to that point."

Legolas glances over at Boromir, then back to me. "It matters not. What's done is done, and I will not have him coming near you until he has once again been deemed trustworthy."

"Merry?"

It's Pippin's voice again.

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

"Valar forbid," I say. "I wonder if he's always this obsessed with food."

"I would not doubt it."

"Really?"

Legolas raises an eyebrow at me.

"What? Can a girl not ask a simple question around here?"

"Perhaps it would be best to save conversation for after Gandalf has remembered the correct passageway."

"Oh, well look at you, acting so mature now."

There is a pause, and for a split second I wonder if I have gone too far.

"Since when have I not been?" questions the elf.

"Are you honestly going to pretend to be innocent?"

The Prince runs his fingertips along the body of his bow. "I am innocent."

"What you are is a liar!" I cross my arms over my chest. "If you recall, I was the one who saved your injured hide back in Mirkwood. Or have you forgotten that as well?"

"I remember it all in perfect clarity." He looks to me with a serious expression. "You performed quite nicely under the amount of pressure you were under. And for that I am still grateful."

"That makes me feel so much better about myself."

Legolas smirks at me before turning to look at Gandalf and Frodo. The two appear to be locked in a very intense conversation. He listens closely for a moment, then frowns. "They speak of Gollum."

"Gollum?" I echo, gazing out into the black abyss. "Wasn't he that scrawny creature you had imprisoned back in Mirkwood?"

"Yes."

"Why would they bring him up now?"

The elf looks over at me. "He was been following us."

I whip around so fast, my hair almost slaps him in the face. "For how long?"

"Three days."

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I imagine hollow eyes staring into me, a gangly form creeping through the shadows when I am unaware. Pale fingers wrapping themselves around my neck, cold and sinister. A shudder runs up my spine.

"Let us hope that he does not find the bravery to show his face."

"Gollum values his life too much to risk it so recklessly."

"From what I've heard, it is very… precious to him."

I snort, and Legolas rolls his eyes.

"Oh!" Gandalf's exclamation alerts us both. "It's that way!" The old wizard gestures to one of the outer doorways.

"He's remembered!" Merry says gleefully.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down here." The wizard stops in front of the chosen passageway before turning around to face us. "If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

The hobbit grins over at his cousin before scurrying over to Gandalf. The others quickly file in after him and, one by one, all disappear down the dark corridor. Legolas and I exchange a small glance.

"Well," I say, dusting off my tunic. "There's no knowing where it leads until you try it."

* * *

><p>The dark tunnel winds its way deep into Moria before casting us into an enormous cavern. It is impossible to see in the near-complete darkness, and I have to squint to make out my own feet.<p>

"Let me risk a little more light," says Gandalf, tapping his staff upon the ground. The white crystal glimmers brighter still, revealing dozens upon dozens of enormous stone pillars towering up from the ground. Each is engraved with intricate patterns that swirl up all the way into the ceiling. Gimli's mouth falls agape.

"Behold! The great realm and dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf." Gandalf raises his staff, allowing it to further illuminate the columns. Sam comes to stand next to me, his hazel eyes wide with disbelief.

"That's an eye opener, make no mistake," he says. "Would you agree, Miss Keira?"

Smiling, I place a hand on his shoulder. "Aye, Sam. It is."

Without so much as a hesitation, Mithrandir begins to lead us through the center of the magnificent city. With enormous pillars towering up on either side of them, I can only image how much smaller the hobbits have to feel now. Even Legolas seems a bit at unease, more so even than the first leg of the journey in the dark. That fact in itself is hard for me to believe.

But then again, he is an…

"Oh!"

Gimli's cry breaks apart my thoughts, and I look over just in time to see the dwarf dart towards a small room to the left of the city.

"Gimli!" shouts Gandalf, rushing after him. Legolas and I are quick to follow.

The dwarf slows upon entering the dusty room. His posture sags dramatically, and he falls to his knees.

"No, no," he whimpers, bowing his head. "No."

Before him lies a massive grey slab of stone, inlaid with dwarfish ruins. A pit of dread settles within my stomach as I realize it to be a tombstone. Gandalf strides up beside the dwarf and proceeds to read the ancient symbols.

"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, lord of Moria. He is dead then." Gandalf removes his hat, and I clasp my hands together in sorrow. "It is as I feared."

Gimli begins to wail. I want to comfort him, but somehow I know that his pain goes too deep. He must deal with it on his own. Gandalf looks on sadly before his gaze is pulled in a different direction. A skeleton, leaning up against the tomb, holds a dusty book in its hands. The old wizard frowns, thrusting his hat and staff into Pippin's hands, before leaning down to pick it up. Pages fall from it as he brings it up to read, wiping away at the layers of grime.

Legolas, still standing beside me, looks to Aragorn. "We must move on. We cannot linger."

I glance to him, than back at the tomb. "Something is terribly wrong."

"They have taken the Bridge and the second hall," says Gandalf, reading from the book. "We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums." Pippin begins to backpedal towards a small grey well near the far corner of the room. His eyes dart about frantically.

"Drums in the deep. We cannot get out."

The group glances around nervously, as if the very ground on which we stand might lurch up and swallow us whole.

"A shadow moves in the dark."

Pippin looks over his shoulder at the well, eyeing the skeleton that sits atop it. Its boney hands are entwined with chains.

_Leave it be, Pip. _

Gandalf's tone turns even more ominous upon reading the last sentences. "We cannot get out. They are coming." I look to Legolas, my wary eyes meeting with his own. It is as if we read each other's minds, because somehow I know we are both thinking the same thing.

_We have to get out of here. _

I am about to call for Pippin when I notice that his hand is extended towards the mummified dwarf, fingertips reaching for the black arrow embedded in it.

"Pippin, no!" I cry, but it is no use. The hobbit twangs the wood with his finger, and the rickety skeleton trembles. There is a disgusting crunch as its head tips off into the well. Crashes resound as it plummets down, down, down into the heart of Moria. The chains snake after it, followed closely by the entire body. Deep echoes sound from bellow as the skeleton bounces from wall to wall, breaking bones and severing links. Pippin winces with every sound it makes.

The racket carries on for a few long seconds before dying down. No one breathes. No one speaks. No one moves. A heavy silence weighs down on us as the dust settles, but the drums do not sound. Aragorn and Boromir both breathe shallow sighs of relief, but it is alas Gandalf who finally breaks the quiet.

"Fool of a Took!" he growls, shutting the book with a forceful snap. He sets the object aside before snatching up his hat and staff from the shamed little hobbit. "Throw yourself in next time, and rid us of your stupidity!"

_Boom._

The distant sound is soft, barely a rumble, but it sends shivers up my spine nonetheless. Gandalf turns around, meeting my gaze for a brief moment.

_Mithrandir, _I call to him mentally. _They come._

"Frodo!" Sam cries, gesturing to his friend's sword. A bluish glow has begun to emanate from the blade. Frodo unsheathes it, filling the sparsely lit room with a ghostly light. I grip onto Aduial's hilt and swiftly pull it out of the sheath. It, too, shimmers a blue. A terrible screech fills the air, and everyone tenses.

"Orcs," says Legolas spitefully.

As if on cue, Boromir races over to the door and proceeds to peek his head out from it. Not a moment later, his breath hitches, and he pulls back just as two arrows embed themselves into the wooden frame.

_Boom, boom._

"Get back! And stay close to Gandalf!" shouts Aragorn, ushering the hobbits back towards the tomb. The wizard wraps his arm protectively around the Halflings, and a fire ignites inside of my chest.

"I will be dead before they touch them," I hiss, spinning Aduial in my fingers. Boromir heaves the doors shut, and Aragorn works to bar them further.

"They have a cave troll!" announces the Gondorian irritably. Legolas tosses him axes, helping to aid in the effort to prevent the Orcs from entering the room. Glamdring gives a gentle hiss as Gandalf draws it from its sheath. The hobbits do the same as I stand in front, guarding them from the terrifying onslaught that is sure to come.

_Valar, give me strength to defend them._

Something hard slams into the doors. Aragorn and Boromir retreat back to Balin's tomb, and Legolas comes to stand beside me. He draws his bow and knocks an arrow to it, running his fingers along its feathered ends.

"Av-'osto," he tells me, voice low. "Do not fear."

"I am not afraid." A spark of magic flames out from my fingertips, and Aduial begins to flicker with white fire. "My strength is renewed. Fight with me now, and let us send these foul beasts back to the abyss."

"Let it be done."

"Argh!" bellows Gimli, standing atop Balin's tomb. "Let them come! There's one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

Aragorn, Legolas and I form a barrier in front of the hobbits, while Boromir stands ready some distance ahead of us. Something crashes against the door, and a hole splits through the middle. Legolas fires into the gap, and a beasty shriek resonates as the arrow finds its mark. There is a pause, and for a split second all I can hear is the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. That and the ever present sound of drums,

_I will see Carca again. I will. _

Another crash, and at last, with a groan of defeat, the doors splinter to the ground. Orcs begin to stream in in a wave of black, cackling and howling as they are. Legolas fells one with an arrow to the chest, and I give a cry before hurling myself into the fray. Gaping orange eyes bore into my own as three Orcs advance upon me. I slash open one's stomach before swinging Aduial round and plunging the blade into the second's boney neck. It screeches terribly, and hot blood splatters upon my cheek. Grimacing, I slice through what remains of its neck until the head tumbles down to my feet. Its comrade growls in aggravation as it swings its own blade towards my face. I duck down just in time, and the weapon sails soundlessly over my head. Rolling to the side, I kick out the back of its knee, sending the beast sprawling to the ground. Its globular eyes taunt me to come closer as a sinister smile spreads across its lips. Frowning, I glance back just in time to see a thick war axe screaming down towards the back of my neck. My eyes widen, and I bring up Aduial to knock it aside. The blades clash with a screech of metal on metal, and for a moment we struggle against each other, Orc and half-elf, pushing and shoving and taunting and yelling. The Orc shrieks at me, its rotten fangs dripping with black saliva.

"Not this time, filth." With that I extend my hand and send daggers of white light spearing into its nervous system.

No sooner does the Orc fall down dead than a splitting roar fills the air, and I look round to see an enormous cave troll smash through what little remains of the doorway. A broken chain is wound about its neck, and it wields club in its fat hands. The vile creature roars in pain as Legolas fires an arrow into its chest.

_If only it were that easy to kill…_

Eyeing Sam, the troll raises the club above its head to smash the hobbit. Sam tucks down and rolls through its legs, confusing it just long enough for Aragorn and Boromir to grab hold of the chains dangling from its neck.

"Pull!" Strider cries. The troll stumbles, bellowing in agitation as it whips around to face them. Aragorn smartly lets go, but Boromir keeps a determined grip on the thick links. The beast seems to scoff as it grabs hold of the chains and nimbly flings Boromir into a nearby wall. The man contacts the stone with a hard thud, and I move to aid him when I note the Orc set to advance on him. But Aragorn is already ahead of me, and no sooner have I taken a step towards the beast than he has sent a dagger sailing into its neck.

Shooting a grateful look at the Ranger, I extend Aduial out in front of me and advance on the troll. The fell creature appears not to notice as it slams its club into the tombstone, knocking Gimli from his perch. The troll steps backwards as it prepares to swing again, but I intercept it with a blow to the ankle. It bellows in pain as Aduial easily cuts through its hard skin, leaving a bloody trail in its wake. Legolas bounds to the front of it before firing two arrows into its massive body. Another roar, this time louder, and it stumbles backwards. Sam, Merry, and Pippin remain huddled behind a pillar, watching with horrorstruck eyes as the troll becomes enraged. It swings its club wildly, knocking aside orcs and rocks and even an unfortunate Gimli. Gandalf parries some of the blows with his staff and sword, and I prepare to join him.

"Going somewhere, she-elf?"

The garbled voice freezes me in place, and I look over my shoulder to see an Orc staring over at me, arrow aimed directly at my face. Someone shouts my name, but I can't move. Move and I'm dead. Do nothing and I'm dead. Either way I'm a living corpse.

The Orc cackles at me, drawing tight its bow, before a silver blade sprouts out from its chest cavity. Writhing, the beast falls to the ground, and I gaze up into the battle-hardened eyes of Legolas.

"Fight with me," he says.

I smirk. "It's about time!"

Legolas nods to me before making for the far side of the room. I follow after him, felling any Orcs that dare come near me. He leaps up onto a stone platform, gesturing for me to follow. As I lack in height and nimbleness, I am forced to push myself up instead of jumping. Upon reaching him, I watch his back while he guards mine.

"Here they come," I say, watching as Orcs begin to pour up the staircase. Raising Audial, I let out a battle cry and charge for them. The Elvish blade is nothing but a glittering streak of metallic flame as I slice away at the Orcs, severing limbs and hacking bodies. I slam the sword's hilt into one Orc's neck before impaling another in the neck. Its dark fingers pry at the blade, but I wrench it out before it has a chance to use it against me.

A grunt from Legolas catches my attention. Glancing back over my shoulder, I am surprised that he has become engaged in a tight scuffle with a particularly large and nasty beast.

"Keira!"

Sam's desperate cry alerts me, and I turn around just as a black dagger slashes down into my shoulder. A scream threatens to tear out from my lungs, but I don't let it. I will not give this foul creature the joy of seeing its success take effect. Instead, I thrust my head forward and head butt it in the face. The creature's pig nose dribbles with blood as it recoils with a yelp. Overcome by pain and rage, I spin on heel in order to decapitate the beast in one clean swipe. My wounded arm screams in protest, but I am forced to bear with the agony as I fight off Orc after Orc. Then, suddenly, as something whizzes overhead, and I duck down just in time as the troll's massive chain collides with the wall beside me. I roll forward as the links whip around once more, this time tangling around one of the pillars. Legolas, having finally felled his opponent, takes the advantage by placing a foot on the chain, preventing it from moving, then running up it and onto the troll's neck. Bracing himself on either side of the beast's shoulders, He strings an arrow before firing it directly into the creature's skull. The beast roars again, swatting at the elf.

_How did that not kill it? _

Legolas jumps down from the beast's shoulders, landing gracefully beside me. His eyes widen upon noting the blood trickling down my arm.

"It's just…" An Orc interrupts me with a sharp yowl, but I silence it with a slice to the throat. "…a scratch."

There is an enormous crash, and we both turn to see the chain snap off the troll's neck, leaving it with only a collar. The enraged beast then turns its attention to the Merry, Frodo, and Pippin.

"To the hobbits!" I cry, charging towards the troll. It brings its club towards the pillar, and Merry and Pippin are forced to scurry to the side to avoid being crushed.

"Frodo!" comes a sharp yell from Strider. The young hobbit ducks down behind the column, sidling away as the troll peers around it. A terrifying game of cat and mouse ensues as the hobbit makes his way all the way around the pillar until, finally, the troll appears to lose interest. Frodo allows himself to relax, but it is then when he makes his first mistake. The cave troll abruptly ducks down again, roaring upon sighting the hobbit. It then proceeds to grab him by the foot and drag him away.

"Aragorn!" comes a cry from Frodo, and then a howl of, "Keira!"

Knocking aside a gangly orc, I begin to sprint towards him, dodging through every opening I can find. Aragorn does the same. The troll gives a powerful tug, sending Frodo sprawling onto the cave floor. Dread courses through me as I see the beast raise its club high above its head, preparing to bring it down.

And it is then when it happens.

A spasm, unlike anything I have ever felt, shudders through my body. My legs jam up beneath me, and I fall to the ground. Aduial clatters from my hand and onto the dusty stone. I writhe in agony as a terrible pain rises up inside of my chest. It feels as though someone as stuck a hot dagger into my heart.

_What is going on?_

Another spasm. Orcs trample over me. My fingers grow numb from being crushed by so many boots. The cave troll screams. Aragorn has stabbed it with a metal prod. Get up, Keira. Get up!

Wincing in pain, I force my arms to bear my weight as I push myself up off the ground. Then my elbows bow out, and I collapse once more.

_This is not poison. This is something worse._

Glancing back at my shoulder, I am surprised to find the Orc dagger still lodged firmly into the muscle. My hand shakes as I reach back and grasp the hilt. _Oh Valar, this is going to hurt._ Clenching my jaw, I draw in a deep breath before wrenching it out. A bright wave of pain nearly blinds me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Almost immediately, however, the spasms subside, and the burning sensation disappears with it.

But it is only when I open my eyes that I discover the true cause of my pain.

The dagger is not a regular blade as I thought. It is a pearly white Breyta fang, its tip dripping with my blood. There are foreign ruins engraved into its base, burning a deep orange.

_It's a spell, _I think. _A spell that is meant for me. Meant to hurt me._

Upon realizing the horrifying new detail, the whole room begins to glow. Swords, axes, maces, knives: all engraved with the same ruins as was found on the Breyta tooth. A dark magic meant only to harm me.

_This is Karr's doing. It has to be. The language engraved into the blade is in the tongue of dragons._

My blood boils with rage as I stumble to my feet, bending down to grasp Aduial. Aragorn has managed to distract the troll enough for Frodo to scramble out of harm's way. The grey beast swipes at the man, and its blows sends him flying into the wall beside it. Strider tumbles to the floor, unconscious. Frodo rushes over to help him.

"No, Frodo!" I shout, fighting my way through the swarm of Orcs. The hobbit must not hear me, however, and just barely dodges away as the troll wrenches the stake from its stomach before stabbing it at him. The hobbit ducks down, and the weapon streaks through the empty air above his head, but the troll does not give up. Narrowing its beady eyes, the beast begins to approach him once more, and Frodo lets out a small cry as it blocks his path of escape.

"No!" My voice cracks as the troll propels the stake directly into Frodo's chest. The hobbit gasps, and Merry and Pippin look on in silent horror. The cave troll snorts at its success, but its triumph is short lived. With a battle cry I lunge forwards and stab Aduial deep into its fleshy side. The creature bellows in pain, and I can do nothing but hold on for dear life as it swings about wildly, trying desperately to knock me off. Having gathered their courage, Merry and Pippin jump onto the troll's shoulders and begin to stab at it. Gandalf turns round, expression hollow with grief for Frodo.

"You killed him!" I scream, wrenching my sword hilt downwards so that it carves a bloody line into its skin. "He was unarmed, and you killed him!"

"Frodo!" cries Sam, having finally been alerted to the ordeal. There is a dull thud that signifies his friend's collapse.

Roaring, the troll reaches up and snatches Merry from its back. It throws him to the ground, and I look up helplessly as it grabs me by the torso before hurling me into the wall. My back slams against the stone with a loud crack. Falling to the ground, I force my vision to swim into focus as I take in the lifeless form of Frodo.

"I'm sorry," I wheeze out, reaching out towards him. My fingertips barely brush the edge of his cloak as I drag myself closer, tears flowing freely from my eyes. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't… save you."

A terrible bellow sounds from the troll, and I look over to see Gimli rush at the beast, hacking at its legs. It kicks the dwarf aside as if he weighed no more than a feather. Gandalf then begins his own attack, parrying the troll's blows with his staff and Glamdring. With both the wizard and Pippin's continuous onslaught to cope with, the monster appears to be close to its breaking point, and with a cry of anguish throws back its head.

Then I hear it. The sharp twang of a bowstring. Something sleek whistles through the air before finding residence in the troll's agape mouth. _Legolas._ The elf eyes the creature with defiance as it stumbles back, fat fingers groping at its lips, before falling face first into the ground. Pippin leaps from the fallen creature's back and comes to stand next to his cousin.

Almost immediately, Gandalf rushes over to where I lay next to the Ringbearer. Face somber, Aragorn begins to crawl over to us. I look up at them with teary eyes.

"Oh no," Strider whispers. Sighing lowly, Mithrandir reaches out to roll the hobbit upright. Almost as soon as Gandalf's fingers make contact with his skin, however, Frodo's eyes fly open, and he gasps.

"Frodo?" I breathe, gazing down at him in awe. The hobbit looks up at me, and I am shocked speechless to see that his eyes are filled with life anew.

"He's alive!" cries Sam, rushing over to us. Frodo clutches at his chest but otherwise seems unharmed. Gandalf breathes a shaky sigh of relief.

"I'm alright," the Halfling assures us, sitting up to look at his worried friend. "I'm not hurt."

"You should be dead!" Aragorn says. "That spear would have skewered a wild boar!"

"I think there is more to this hobbit than meets the eye," Gandalf says. Frodo parts his shirt, revealing the silvery fabric of a Mithril vest. I grin as Sam reaches out to touch it.

"Mithril!" Gimli exclaims. "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins."

"That he is, Gimli." Upon hearing my voice, Frodo looks up at me with a smile. We exchange a long and meaningful glace before, suddenly, a beastly shriek sounds from outside of the room. Gandalf whips around, eyes wide. Shadows begin to creep through the doorway, and the old wizard stares at them for a moment. Then, finally, he speaks.

"To the Bridge of Khazad-dûm!"

I spring to my feet, the rest of the company following suit, and begin to follow after Gandalf as he makes for the doorway. Legolas rushes up beside me, bow in hand.

"Are you hurt?"

_Yes. _"No."

He narrows his eyes at me. "You are lying."

"Enough, Legolas. I wish not to talk of it."

The dull grey of Moria overcomes us as we flee from the tomb, only to be met with an even more impending threat. A great swarm of orcs has begun to pursue us, squabbling and cackling and gnashing their teeth. The faster we run, the more seem to appear. Gushing out from cracks in the floor, pouring from the ceilings and down the columns. We don't make it more than fifty feet before we are forced to stop, having been completely surrounded.

_There are so many,_ I think, looking out to the mass of orcs. There must be hundreds, if not thousands of them. There is no way we can fight this many of them off, yet still we draw up our swords, defiant till the end.

"Look, boys!" growls one of the beasts. "It's a she-elf!"

"Fresh and unspoiled!" crows another, "My favorite!" The front line of beasts begins to approach us, licking their fangs and waving about their swords.

Suddenly, an enormous roar sounds from an archway far ahead of us. The cavern falls abruptly silent as the far walls begin to glow a devilish red. After a small moment of quiet, the Orcs begin to squabble among themselves, glancing about in panic. Another roar, this time louder, sends the foul beasts fleeing back up the pillars from whence they came. Fear weighs down upon the company with great strength as we look out to the growing red doom.

"What is this new devilment?" hisses Boromir, extending his sword as the light draws nearer.

I know the answer even before the wizard speaks, for there is only one creature able to emit such an evil glow. Only one species of monster that has the ability to live in flames. To thrive in them. To bathe itself in them so that it no longer resembles an actual creature, but a living fire, powerful enough to decimate entire civilizations with a plume of its scorching breath.

Gandalf closes his eyes for a moment before speaking.

"A balrog, demon of the ancient world. It is a foe beyond any of you." He meets my gaze. "Save but one." We exchange a long look, full of fear and horror, before shouting out a single word.

"RUN!"

The Fellowship sprints forward, and in a matter of moments we have left behind the pillared room, only to arrive in an even larger cavern. Propelled by fear, Boromir darts ahead of the company before heading down a steep flight of stairs. Then, suddenly, he skids to a halt. He teeters upon the stairs' edge, waving his arms frantically in order to maintain his balance. Legolas, having kept closely to my side, seems to realize Boromir's dire situation. He rushes forward and wrenches the man backwards, saving him from a rather terrible plunge down into the depths of Moria. The elf steps away from the man almost immediately, his face tight with an unreadable emotion. The rest of the company files in behind him, with Gandalf bringing up the rear. Aragorn looks to the wizard, concerned.

"Gandalf," he says.

"Lead them on, Aragorn," the wizard says. "The Bridge is near."

Strider pauses, unsure. The balrog roars once more, rattling my eardrums.

"Do as I say!" Gandalf shouts, shoving Aragorn forward. "Swords are of no more use here!"

Reluctantly, the Ranger obeys, leading us on down the stairs to our right. Downwards we go, every step leading us closer to the Bridge, before suddenly we come upon a gap that is too large to step across. We pause for a moment, and I swallow hard. The toes of my boots are hanging off the edge. One wrong step would send me plunging to my doom.

Legolas is the first to surprise me by leaping across the gap. I gape at him wordlessly. The elf whips around, golden hair shining. He then begins to usher us on. No one moves.

"Keira!" he shouts finally, gesturing for me to jump. I try to move, but a paralyzing fear grips hold of my heart as I note the terrible chasm before me.

_Not now, Keira. You can't do this now._

Braving my fear, I swing my arms back and propel myself into the air. For a brief and terrifying moment, the gap seems too large for me to make, but Legolas is there to aid me. My feet slam into the stone, heels rocking on the edge as the elf pulls me onto the platform and into his open arms. For a split second I cling to him, allowing my fear to dissipate in his embrace, before stepping aside and looking to the rest of the company. Gandalf is next to jump as arrows begin to whizz past us, missing Boromir by mere inches. Legolas and I turn to see a group of Orcs taking residence in a hollowed out portion of the cavern wall, firing upon us at will. The Prince fights back with return fire of his own, sending one unfortunate beast tumbling down from the outcropping.

"Merry! Pippin!" cries Boromir. He clutches a hobbit under either arm before making the leap. Almost as soon as they land on the platform, an enormous chunk of the staircase across from us splits off from the rest, making the gap between us and the remaining members of the company even greater. Grunting, Aragorn nods to me before hurling Sam across the distance. Boromir catches the hobbit in his arms, pulling him over to where Merry and Pippin stand.

"Nobody tosses a dwarf!" I hear Gimli bellow. All I see is a red streak through the air before he makes a shaky landing upon the edge of the platform. Legolas is forced to grab his beard to prevent him from falling.

The dwarf bugs his eyes as the elf drags him up. "Not the beard!" I grab onto his arm, helping to pull him to safety while Aragorn fires back at the orcs. Almost as soon as the dwarf has regained his footing, another potion of the staircase breaks off, and Aragorn and Frodo have to back up a foot or so to keep from falling. My heartbeat pounds in my ears as I realize that the gap is now too wide to cross. Frodo wobbles slightly.

"Steady! Hold on!" cries Aragorn, grabbing onto his back.

Suddenly, the doorway behind them begins to glow a fierce orange, and a tremendous roar sends chunks of rock raining down from the ceiling. One such piece takes out a good portion of the steps behind Aragorn and Frodo, leaving them isolated on a small ledge of rock. The base of the great stairs begins to crumble, making the whole structure sway.

Aragorn grips hard onto Frodo's clothing. "Hang on!"

I look on in horror as the ledge tips back and forth with every passing moment.

"Lean forward!" Strider hollers.

Legolas and I extend our arms as the staircase begins to lean towards us.

"Come on!" he calls, and I wave them on. No sooner has the elf finished speaking than the two have jumped. Legolas catches hold of Aragorn, and I of Frodo. We then begin to sprint forward as the staircase crashes into the ledge, bashing itself into oblivion as it careens down into the dark pit bellow.

Lungs burning, I force my legs to keep up with Legolas's stride as we emerge into a separate room. By now, both caverns have become engulfed in flames. The heat is so strong that I feel as though my flesh might melt from my bones.

"Over the Bridge!" I hear Gandalf cry, shoving us up ahead of him. "Fly!"

"Mithrandir, you cannot face this alone!" I yell, stopping to look at him. "I can help you!" The wizard makes no response and instead places a hand on my back, pushing me towards the others before turning to face the growing wall of flames.

Fear and confusion take hold of me, and look back over my shoulder just as an enormous black creature emerges from the fire. Twin horns frame its dark face as it leaps down from the ledge, great wings stretching out from either side of its body. Two blood red eyes stare defiantly at Gandalf as it bends down to look at him. Great waves of terror flood my mind, and I shout out once more. "Gandalf, do not do this!"

"Go with the others!" is all he says. Heart pounding, I turn away just as the beast gives a great roar. Gandalf's rapid footsteps follow after me as I struggle to catch up with the rest of the company. Legolas looks back, first at the balrog, then at me. His eyes widen with fear, and he comes to an abrupt halt.

"What are you doing?" I scream at him. "Run!"

The elf does not budge. Instead, he shifts his bow to his left hand reaches out towards me with the other.

"I will not leave you," he says strongly, hair whipping about his face.

"I can help fight it! Gandalf needs me!"

"This is his battle, not yours. Now run!"

Seeing him there, waiting for me, sends a new rush of adrenaline coursing through my blood. My feet hammer into the ground as I begin to sprint towards him, Gandalf and the fiery balrog hot on my heels. Chest heaving, I give a powerful surge forward and slam my hand down into Legolas's. The elf immediately breaks into a swift run, his long strides propelling us farther and faster than mine ever could. In no time flat he has helped ferry me to safety at the end of the Bridge. We turn round in synch, looking to where Gandalf now stands in the middle of the structure, facing off with the fiery demon.

"You cannot pass!" bellows the wizard. Glamdring gleams wickedly one hand while his staff shines powerfully in the other.

"Gandalf!" cries Frodo.

The balrog raises up to its full height and ignites itself in flames. Its great wings stretch out nearly a hundred feet on either side of it. My face burns not just from the heat, but with anger as well. I feel my palm begin to glow.

"I have to help him," I say, stepping out towards the Bridge. A strong hand on my elbow stops me. I don't have to look to know that it's Legolas. "Let go of me."

"I will not."

"I need to help him!"

"We cannot lose you both," he says strongly. "It could mean the end of the Fellowship."

"Legolas, he needs me!" I cry, pulling against him. His grip tightens all the more.

"I am the servant of the Secret Fire!" shouts Gandalf. "Wielder of the Flame of Anor!" The balrog reaches to the side and unsheathes a flaming sword. It raises the weapon high above its head, and I watch as it crackles and sparks with menace.

My fingernails rake along Legolas's forearms as I struggle against him. A horrible screeching sound ensues as they drag across his arm-guards, but the elf remains steadfast. I then throw back my elbow, willing it to make contact with him. It simply glides through empty air before falling limp at my side once more.

"The dark fire will not avail you," the wizard continues, holding out his glowing staff. "Flame of Udun!" The balrog brings down its blade to contact Gandalf's staff, and a bright flash of light and a terrible boom ensues. Enraged, the balrog drops its sword and screams.

"Go back to shadow!" Gandalf bellows. The balrog eyes him wickedly as it steps out onto the Bridge, cloven foot red with flame. It raises up an arm, which harbors a great fiery whip. It cracks it above its head, showering the Bridge in sparks.

Mithrandir raises up both his staff and sword. "You shall not pass!" With that he brings his staff down hard upon the Bridge. The ground trembles, but the balrog seems oblivious. It snorts at the wizard and takes another step forward. This time, however, the great stone cracks before it, sending the beast tumbling down into the chasm along with the good portion of the Bridge. It flails violently, screaming as it plunges to its doom.

_He's done it. Gandalf's defeated the balrog._

Gandalf turns round, preparing to step towards us. I smile gleefully at him and am about to run to him when, suddenly, something thin and glowing snakes itself around his ankle, yanking him down with it. The wizard just manages to catch himself upon the edge of the Bridge, hanging on by using only his arms.

"Mithrandir!" I wail, kicking at Legolas. "Mithrandir, hold on! Let me _go, _Legolas!" Someone else grabs onto my left arm, restraining me even further.

_I am done for, dear one, _a voice echoes in my head. Gandalf attempts to pull himself back up, but fails. His fingers have begun to tremble with strain.

_Don't do this, _I plead to him. _Don't you dare do this. Tell them to release me. Let me help you!_

_Your time will come, Keira. _The wizard gazes at me solemnly. _But not now._

"Gandalf!" Frodo wails once more. Boromir grips hold of the hobbit's arms, preventing him from running to the Istari.

Gandalf looks at me one last time, his ancient gaze full of pain, before whispering his final words.

"Fly, you fools!"

And then he is gone.

"_No!_"

Frodo's piercing howl rattles in my ears as the form of Gandalf vanishes into the dark abyss. My throat burns as I try to scream, but no words come out. Mithrandir, the Grey Wizard, the one and only person with whom I could relate. Gone. I stop struggling and sag against Legolas, squeezing my eyes shut as the roars of the balrog die away into the abyss.

"Aragorn!" I hear Boromir say, but the cry is faded. Distant. Unreal. Just like Gandalf's death. Then, suddenly, I am being pulled away from the Bridge. Darkness overcomes us as we leave the fires of Kazad-dum behind. Legolas is saying something. It sounds like an apology. All I gather are snippets of his words.

Gandalf is dead.

Gandalf is dead and I could have helped him.

I am blinded momentarily by a great flood of white light. My nose is filled with the fresh air of the outdoors, free at last of the stench of Moria. But I cannot enjoy it. My legs, numbed with exertion, carry me for what seems like forever down the rocky hill until, finally, I collapse near its base. Legolas had released me as soon as we made it through the doors.

"Gandalf," I whisper, pressing my forehead into my palms. "My wise friend, taken at last by the very darkness he wished to destroy." The sobs come easily, rocking my tired body as I sit upon the stone. My ears pick up the sound of footsteps behind me, but I do not have the strength to move. The wizard's death weighs down impossibly hard on my shoulders.

_Why didn't he let me help him? Why did Legolas not let me go?_

There is a hand on my shoulder, soft yet strong. I feel myself pulling towards it, not caring whose it is. But at the same time I know it can only be one person's.

"Keira."

My name rolls off his tongue like honey, and I manage to look up, blurry eyed as I am. Legolas stands above me, his face smudged with soot and dirt. His blue eyes tug at mine, wise beyond their years. I force myself to bear their gaze and am surprised to find that they are as broken as mine are.

"Legolas." My voice is barely a whimper. Braving the burden of loss, I stagger up onto my feet. His hands clutch onto both of my elbows, steadying me.

I snap. There is no other way to describe it. We've been through the deepest recesses of hell together, yet it is now that I finally allow myself to let go. I fall into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and clinging there. He pulls me tightly against him, his hand in my hair, combing it through his fingers. I am sobbing now, but he does not weep. Not openly, at least. No, the only reason I know the strength of his emotions is how strongly he holds me, like he thinks that I might slip away at any time. Like I as well might perish into the darkness. Our heartbeats pound in perfect rhythm. Our tears mesh with the blood from our wounds. My end is his beginning. His loss is my loss. We are one, if only in this moment. One in our passion and pain.

If only such moments could be free of despair.

The cries of others grow louder and louder in my ears, and I open an eye to see Merry and Pippin weeping openly. Sam sits beside them, his hand upon his forehead. Boromir holding Gimli back from returning to the mines, calling Gandalf's name.

I am not the only one who has lost a friend.

"What now?" I whisper in the Prince's ear, my lips brushing fagainst his skin.

"Aragorn must decide where now to lead us." Slowly, I pull myself away from him in order to look the elf in the eyes. We stand there for a moment, neither of us moving, just gazing at each other.

"Legolas! Keira!" Aragorn's sharp calls alert us both, shattering the peaceful silence between us. "Get them up!"

"We must make haste," Legolas says lowly. "We cannot afford to linger here any longer."

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" cries Boromir. Merry and Pippin look up at me, eyes hollow with sadness. Aragorn sheathes his sword with a purposeful hiss.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs." He looks to me and Legolas. "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien."

"The golden wood," I say, my sorrow momentarily replaced by a feeling of awe. "Let us hope that the Wood-elves there will take kindly to us."

Aragorn helps Sam to his feet while Boromir aids Merry and Pippin. Gimli hoists himself up without assistance and turns to look at Strider.

It doesn't take long for me to realize that we are one member short.

Looking ahead, I am surprised to see the small form of Frodo walking up ahead of us.

"Frodo!" I call out, making my way over to him. Having heard my voice, the hobbit turns to look at me. Tears roll down from his blue eyes before dripping silently to the ground.

_It's ok, _I say to him mentally. _I know how you feel. _At first, the Halfling looks shocked, but then begins to walk towards me.

"What are we going to do, Lady Keira?" He comes to stand next to me, and together we look out at the stretch of land before us. "What would Gandalf want for Strider to do?"

"I do not know," I tell him honestly. "But Aragorn is wise in many ways. He will lead us well."

"How can you know for sure"

"Hush now, and save your strength." I look up as Aragorn begins to lead the company onwards down the hill. "The road ahead is long, yet one thing remains true in our hearts."

Frodo looks up at me, frowning softly. "What's that?"

There is an enormous whoosh somewhere high above our heads, and a winged shadow sweeps over the rocks. The sunlight glints off of a black shape soaring above the cliffs of Moria. Smiling, I look down at Frodo and squeeze his shoulder.

"Hope, my dear little hobbit. Hope."

* * *

><p><strong>Welp, there you have it! I hope you all have had a lovely week! I myself have been very busy with sports and, of course, writing! Oh, and can I just say... THE BOTFA TRAILER WAS AMAZING! But the feels were extreme, with Thorin wearing his crown, Galadriel kissing Gandalf's forehead, Smaug torching the Laketown like the boss he is, etc... But can we talk about how incredible Thranduil looked in his battle armor? And don't forget the dwarves' charge atop war-rams! EPIC! Ok, I'm sorry, I just am really really excitednervous about the third and final installment of the Hobbit franchise!**

**Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter, and a special thanks to Raider-K for all of your reviews! It really means a lot to me that you spent your time writing all those comments! **

**Enjoy the rest of your week, lovelies!**

**-PC**


	22. Laments

Carca's silhouette passes overhead several times before he finally makes to land. His enormous ebony wings glint in the sunlight as he swoops down in front of me, hooked claws latching onto the cracks in the stone. Two golden eyes bore into my own as our gazes meet. My heart gives a painful tug upon noticing the thin slice of red above his right brow.

"Carca," I whisper, stumbling towards him. The wolf strides forward to meet me, and I wrap my arms around his neck. A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I bury my face in his thick fur, savoring its familiar smell. His neck cranes over my shoulder, leaving his chin resting on the small of my back.

"It is good to see you," hums the Breyta. Smiling, I reach up and stroke his ears.

"How are you, my friend?"

"Quite well." Carca pulls back so that we are eye to eye. "And yourself?"

"I wish I could say the same." I glance back towards the mines with a hollow expression.. "Gandalf fell defending us from a balrog."

"Balrog? There have been no such things roaming Middle Earth since the Second Age!"

"The dwarves awoke it long ago," I say. "And what a terrible beast it was. You should have seen it, Carca. It was enormous and wicked, wielding both a sword and a whip of fire. It was a formidable foe, even for one so brave and experienced as Mithrandir."

Carca looks down solemnly. "I am sorry, Keira. Out of all the Istari, he was among the kindest."

"That he was." I blink away any remenants of my tears and smile up at him. "But he would not want us mourning him. Instead, we should celebrate what he accomplished in life and leave it at that."

"Those are wise words." Looking to Aragorn and the retreating members of the company, Carca sniffs. "They make for Lothlorien. Shall we continue with them on foot?"

"On foot? Are you crazy?" I grip the saddle bar and swing myself onto his back. "I've been stuck on the ground for far too long, wouldn't you say?"

The Breyta grins. "Aye."

There is a gentle crackling sound as Carca unfolds his massive wings, allowing them to catch onto the wind drafts. The feathers rustle softly as he spreads them out to their full extend before thrusting upwards. Pippin glances up, expression awestruck, as we rocket into the air. Moria becomes nothing but a slab of distant grey beneath us, and I grin as the wolf levels out into a steep glide. The land begins to stretch out before us as we plummet back down to earth. I can just pick out the Fellowship as they make their way across the rocky terrain. Several of them shoot bewildered looks up towards the clouds. Carca's lips stretch into a giddy smile as he banks sharply, steering us towards the woods of Lothlorien. They are but a fuzzy smear of gold on the horizon, but somehow I feel that they are already calling to me. To all of us. Offering relief from the pain that is both physical and mental as well. Perhaps there we can finally begin to mend ourselves.

"I missed you," I say to Carca, laying prone upon his back.

"And I, you." The wolf pauses before continuing. "Did he behave himself?"

I frown. "Did who behave himself?"

"The elf. Was he good to you?"

"Legolas saved me from being slapped by Boromir. So yes, he was."

Carca stiffens beneath me. "Slapped? That man would dare assault you?"

"He was behaving very strangely," I say, gazing out into the horizon. "The Ring has begun to take hold of him."  
>"Why were you not able to fend him off?"<p>

"I spent all my magic up during the fight with the water beast. I did not harbor the energy needed to fight back."

A low growl sounds from my companion. "If I were there, Boromir would no longer possess the hand in question."

"He was only angry, Carca. I honestly don't think he would have done anything at all."

"But you do not know for sure. I will no longer trust that man to be around you." The Breyta gazes up at me with one eye. "Stay far away from him."

"You sound like my father."

Carca's gaze turns downwards, and I immediately regret my choice of words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It is not your fault," he cuts in abruptly. "Being without you for these past few days gave me nothing to do but think. And the things I thought of did not pertain to the happiest of subjects."

I frown. "The Lypta?"

"They had their part."

"Carca, you cannot allow yourself to be taken still by grief and hate. It will do you no good in the long run of things."

"Will it not?" The wolf shoots me a dark look. "Anger propels me to fight harder. And as long as I am fighting for the right cause, I will continue to feed that anger."

"Is that would your mother would want? What Celeb would want? As much as you are my protector, it is also my duty to guard _you_, as well. To hate is to give into what the Lypta are driven by. Do you really want that?"

"I care not what the enemy uses."

"But you should!"

Suddenly, a sharp gust of wind slams into my back, and I give a small bleak of pain as its cold fingers stab into the wound on my shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Carca asks urgently.

"Yes," I say, propping myself up with my arms. "Yes, I am quite fine."

A low growl rises up from within his throat. "You are injured."

"It is a minor wound. A blow from an Orc knife, nothing more."

"Then why have you not already healed it?"

Grunting, I proceed to tear a strip of fabric from my sleeve and dab at the blood trickling down my forearm. "I can't."

"_What?"_

"I said I can't!" The Breyta frowns at the venom in my tone, and I sigh before continuing. "Sorry. It's just that the Orc that stabbed me had his blade inlaid with a deep spell, written in the ancient drake language. The symbols on the hilt spelled out the words 'Wolf-rider.' It is preventing me from using my healing powers."

"Sauron's trickery!" hisses Carca. "I have heard voices from afar, speaking of a dark magic that has begun to seep out from Mordor. I fear that most weaponry of the Orcs will be bound in spells."

"I do not think that this is Sauron's doing." Biting my lip, I force myself to brave Carca's powerful gaze. "There is something that I have… kept from you. Something that I once thought only to be part of a nightmare. But now I see that he is very real, and very dangerous." I swallow hard. "Something came to me in a dream that calls himself the King of the Lypta."

The effect of my words is immediate. Carca's wings shudder to a standstill, and he banks sharply to the right, making a bee-line for Moria's cliffs.

"Carca, I'm sorry! I know I should've have…"

"_Silence!"_

My mouth snaps shut with an audible click. The dark wolf proceeds to allow the wind to carry us towards the looming wall of grey. He stretches his legs towards them, and I prepare for a rough impact. Carca extends his wings to act as sails as he slams into the hard rock. His ebony claws latch onto the stone ledge with a terrible screech. The talons at the end of his wings act as grips, lodging themselves into the cracks in the rock and allowing Carca to right himself. Shivering, I slide down from his back and step in front of him. The Breyta's eyes burn into me like fiery golden orbs.

"Why would you keep this from me?" he snaps.

"You already have enough trouble to deal with as is. I did not want to cause you more strife."

"Then you were behaving foolishly! I am your protector, Keira. Your guardian. It is my duty in this life to prevent any harm from coming to you. It is by the Valar's decree that no secrets are to be kept between us."

"Since when?"

Carca's fur bristles dangerously. "Do not pretend to be ignorant of this. You were there when Celeb recited the code."

"And I have been loyal to that code for twenty long years. But times have changed. Evil has entered this world, such as we have never seen before. If we are to protect each other, than we would be better off keeping to ourselves the things that would only hurt us to know."

"Is that really what you believe?"

"Yes!" I cry. "I know what you have been through, Carca. I know that the Lypta killed your mother. That is why I refrained from telling you!"

"There was only one beast responsible for her death." The wolf looks out into the sun, and only in its white light do I note the grey streaks in his muzzle. Though he may not feel it, it is no secret to me that Carca is old. Very old. Over three times my current age. That fact in itself can seem quite mind-boggling sometimes.

"Who?" I inquire, sinking down into a crouch.

"At the time, he had taken the form of a great cat. Golden and wicked, with red eyes that gleamed as sharp as rubies. He sliced my mother through with his claws and let her life-blood drain out onto the forest ground. The creature then spoke to me; only a simple phrase, but I remember it as clear as day." Carca looks at me severely. "He said, 'You will pay for her mistakes.'"

His words send chills trembling down my spine. "Valar forbid, that was nearly a hundred years ago. How long has that beast been living?"

"That is not important." Carca lowers his head until our noses are almost touching. "What did he tell you? I want to know everything, every poisoned word that he spoke."

Briefly, I fill my companion in on the unpleasant interlude. By the end of our conversation, the Breyta is clearly disturbed. He lifts his head once more, brow furrowed into a severe line.

"That is a dark omen," he says lowly. "You say that you spoke to Gandalf of this matter?"  
>"Upon waking, yes. I told him everything."<p>

Carca's ears flatten slightly, as if wounded that I shared with the wizard what I refused to tell him. "What was his reaction?"

"He said that dragons are renowned to be conniving and deceitful."

"Dragon?" Carca growls. "You refrained from informing me on _that_ little detail."

"I did not!"

"You said serpent. They are not the same."

I wave him off with a small eye roll. "Judging by your mood, it wouldn't matter if Karr was a big fluffy rabbit. The fact that he sent me a mind image says that he is already very powerful. I'd hate to see what he looked like a month or two from now."

"Try four or five. A journey into Mordor is no small errand."

"You think I don't know that?" Trying desperately to control my temper, I take to rubbing my temples. "Let's face it, Carca. We both know that not everyone is going to make it. By the end of it all, I would not be surprised if Frodo was the only survivor."

"Don't talk like that," scolds the Breyta.

"I am only saying what needs to be said. Just look at Boromir; we've barely been at it this quest a month, and already he is succumbing to the evil of the ring. Who will be next, I wonder? Sam? Aragorn? Legolas?" I stumble over the last name, but Carca does not appear to notice. "The truth of the matter is that none of us are going to walk out of this unscathed. Between the might of both Karr and Sauron combined, we are facing a whole new kind of enemy."

"Sauron seeks only power and dominion. Karr is out for blood." I watch as Carca's claws dig themselves further into the thick rock. "This is no calculated killer. He is rampant, and will stop at nothing to achieve his goal. You realize that even if Frodo does manage to destroy the Ring, he will still have Karr to answer to."

"I know." Looking up at my companion, I run my fingers through my hair. "Do you think we should mention him to the others?"

"I would not recommend it. It would only bear more strife upon their already troubled minds."

I sigh. "You're probably right."

"I am right." His ancient eyes pull at mine with intense ferocity. "You will make no mention of Karr's existence to anyone but me. Understood?"

"Yes."

Carca observes me for a moment, searching my face for any signs of doubt, before shaking himself.

"Then let us be off."

* * *

><p>The flight to Lorien is brief yet troubling. Though it a relatively short distance from the rock outcropping to the forest, the wind has seemed to pick up the farther we travel from Moria, and it has caused my shoulder to become numb and swollen. Although it is a relief to be free of pain, I can't help but wonder what infections might be growing in the severed flesh. Perhaps it will do me some good to clean and dress the wound when we arrive to Lothlorien.<p>

Or should I say, _if _we arrive to Lothlorien.

Carca lets out a sharp yowl as yet another gust of wind sends him spiraling out of control. His wings flap so fast that they are hardly more than a blur as we are thrown into a messy sort of spinning fit.

"Land!" I shout to him desperately. My voice is all but drowned out in the screaming of the air as it rushes over Carca's feathers.

"What?" he screeches in reply.

"I said… _land!"_

Carca lurches upwards, and my forehead cracks painfully into the front of the saddle. My vision blurs out for a moment, only to be replaced by the sight of the golden woods of Lorien spiraling closer and closer. And, to make matters worse, it appears that we also have been thrown upside down. I shriek in terror as my grip on his sides reduces to nothing, and I find myself plummeting through open air.

My throat burns as I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. No sound, no voice. Both, it seems, have been done away with and replaced by fear's gripping silence.

Is this how it ends?

I try to summon magic, but know it would not do me any good. I am seconds from impacting Lorien's treetops. Time seems to slip through my fingers, and I close my eyes, preparing for the end.

But just as my fingertips brush against the leaves, something hard slams into my shoulders, and I find myself being lifted upwards.

"Bless you… Carca," I pant, grasping hard onto his thick paws.

"I would suggest working on your grip," he says dully. His cracking voice is the only thing betraying his fatigue. Having righted himself, the Breyta glides soundlessly back towards the tree line before touching down onto the soft grass. He releases me, and I flop down rather unattractively onto earth. My cheek presses against the soil as I draw in several ragged breaths.

"Are you well?"  
>Grunting, I manage to push myself into a sitting position. Carca cocks his head ever so slightly.<p>

"Free-falling," I wheeze out. "Terrifying, yet invigorating. You should try it sometime."

"Keira!"

I don't have to look to place the voice as Pippin's. Almost immediately, I feel two sets of hands on my arms, helping me up.

"Are you alright?" asks Merry. "We saw you falling!"

"Carca and I were just… having some… fun," I huff, shooting a pointed look at the Breyta. "Just having fun."

His eyes lay flat against his head, and he grumbles irritably before making for the forest.

"Oh come on, do lighten up!"

Carca swishes his tail, brushing off my words. I snort, and the hobbits look up me with confused expressions.

"I have a feeling that your version of 'fun' is very different from ours," Merry says.

"You're probably right," I say, dusting myself off. I then watch as the remaining members of the Fellowship break into a jog as they disappear beneath the towering trees of Lorien. Boromir glances back at us, and I shoot him a cold glare. The man glances around uncomfortably before following after the others. Sighing, I look down at the hobbits and smile. "Well, no reason to just stand here. We best be catching up with everyone." Ushering the hobbits forward, I wince slightly as my shoulder wound gives a twinge of protest. A burning pain has begun to arise from the injured skin, and though I cannot see what it looks like, I have a nagging feeling that I would not want to. The bleeding might have stopped, but the resulting scar will continue to remind me of the unpleasant encounter with the Orcs for many days to come.

"Do you not have the ability to heal your wounds?"

The dry statement startles me out of my thoughts, and I whirl around briskly. My eyes are met with the sight of a sodden green tunic, streaked sparsely with dirt and blood. I am forced to crane my neck upwards to see the person's face.

What I see is not the unblemished, porcelain face of an Elven Prince. It is the strong, battle-hardened mask of an elf that is both young and ancient at the same time. His eyes are steely as he gazes down upon me, expression unreadable. For I moment I am too petrified to speak.

"I… yes, yes I can."

Legolas frowns. "Then why have you not done so already?"

I fold my arms across my chest and look down briefly. "A deep spell written in drake-tongue had been infused in the Orc blade that stabbed me. It prevents me from using my healing magic."

"The language of dragons has not been used in over a millennia." The elf squints at me. "What do those foul beasts wish to obtain by wielding it now?"

_Don't tell him, Keira. Don't you dare tell him._

Either way, I'm going to be lying to someone.

"I don't know," is all I say, frowning up at the sky. "It's frustrating."

There is a short pause. "Your wound needs to be cleansed," Legolas says eventually.

"Perhaps the Lothlorien elves will dress it for me."

"If they allow you passage." I barely suppress a shiver as he brushes his hand across my forearm. "I know you. The Fellowship knows you. But the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn do not. There is no telling whether they will allow someone of such stature as yourself into their realm. I do not even know that they are aware of your presence among the company."

Now it is my turn to frown. "Why would you think that? The Lord and Lady had lived far longer than any of us. Surely they have heard of the Breyta and their Riders?"

"Perhaps, but that does not mean that you are to gain their immediate trust. The powers of you and Carca, not to mention the Ring, could potentially threaten the safety of their kin. They might think you to be imposters."

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask.

Legolas's stone features seem to soften a bit. "Because if they do decide to prevent you from entering, then I will not enter, either."

My mouth falls agape. "But Legolas, they are your kin!"

"If I were to consider anyone outside of Mirkwood my kin, it would not be the Lorien elves. Not now, at least."

"Well if not them, who?"

The elf looks down at me, his expression deadly serious.

"You."

I quite nearly faint on the spot.

"_Me?"_

"Do not act so shocked," he says sharply. "I have known you for many moons now, Keira, and have grown fond enough to call you my friend. You seem to forget that you do harbor elven blood, and that does relate us in one way or another. Kin do not abandon kin, thus I will not abandon you."

"You would choose to stay with me over the company?"

"When I first volunteered to aid in this quest, I had not the slightest idea that you would be coming along, as well. Your joining of the Fellowship drastically altered my priorities."

"In what way?"

"I was filled with a new drive to accomplish the task at hand, because I knew that if we did not succeed, then I could not promise your return."

My heart beat drums in my ears as I fish for a proper response. "Your priorities as a member of this company should be to protect Frodo. Not me. I have Carca for a reason."

"I wish not to act as your protector," he says evenly. "I have learned from experience that you are perfectly capable of defending yourself."

"Legolas, I do not understand…"

"I have navigated these woods many times before. I could help show you where to…"

"_You _will not be showing _her_ anything!"

I flinch at the powerful voice, and both Legolas and I look over to see Carca peering out from the golden woods. His wings are tucked tightly against his sides, giving him the appearance of a regular wolf.

"Carca," I say forcefully. "Go back with the others. This does not involve you."

"Involve me? Why should this matter _not_ involve me?"

"I want only to help her," Legolas says carefully, his tone bordering on defensive.

Carca gives a low snarl, his dark form but a shadow against the golden forest. "You have done nothing to deserve that. I am her protector, not you."

Legolas opens his mouth to speak, but I grasp his wrist in warning. "Do not antagonize him."

"And if I do not, what then? Will he not allow me to speak with you?"

"Just let me talk to him," I say. "We can work these sort of things out."

The Prince sets his jaw, as if wanting to say more, but eventually nods. "Do not fall behind."

"And don't you venture too far ahead."

The last comment earns me a smile, and no sooner has Legolas first appeared then he has disappeared into the leafy woods. Carca watches him as he strides past, and the two exchange a cold glare before the elf joins with the rest of the retreating company. The black wolf then looks to me.

"What were you _thinking?"_ I snap, trudging over to him. The Breyta recoils at my tone but does not back down.

"Have you put aside the code altogether?" he hisses. "Your duty as Were-rider will not be replaced by petty feelings for that elf-rat!"

"Don't you dare call him that! Legolas and I have done what we can to mend our friendship, and here you are trying to destroy it! What has gotten into you?"

"It is no secret to me that you care deeply for him, Keira. I have known it for some time now. But you must push aside those feelings if you are to continue on this journey. There is no telling what the Valar could do to you if you would choose to defy their wishes so flippantly."

"Yes!" I exclaim. "Yes, I do care for him, but not in the way you would imagine. Legolas is my friend, one of the dearest ones that I have ever had. And I love him for that, and that alone. Why does everything have to be so difficult with you?"

"If you complied with my wishes, it would not have to be that way."

Irritated, I shove past him and make for the forest.

"Keira!" he barks. "Do not walk away from me!"  
>"If you are so concerned with my wellbeing, then maybe you should try <em>following <em>for a change!"

My harsh tone seems to silence him for the time being, and I let out a shaky breath before setting out towards the company.

* * *

><p>The remainder of the day is spent venturing deeper and deeper into the woods of<p>

Lothlorien. Even though it is mid-winter, the forest seems to be unaffected by the elements. Fresh leaves still bud upon the trees' golden boughs, while the old drift away with even the slightest breeze. The air is filled with the sounds of crunching and crackling as the Fellowship treads across the uneven terrain, careful to avoid making too much of a racket. Too much noise could attract unwanted attention, and even though the Lady Galadriel's powers shield the land from many foes, there is no telling what kinds of beastly creatures may have been able to invade it without her knowing. Orcs. Goblins. Wargs, perhaps? Or maybe something far more deadly…

Would the Lypta be able to penetrate Lorien's defenses?

My question would be better off for Carca to answer, but the Breyta has not spoken to me since our argument several hours back. Though he remains at my side, I can tell that our disagreement is far from over. Legolas is careful to keep his distance from me, but neither one of us can keep from stealing glimpses at each other from time to time. His blue eyes send silent questions to me every time our gazes meet.

_Are you alright?_

No.

_Can we talk?_

No.

Then repeat.

Gentle flutters rustle in the treetops as birds fly overheard, sending down showers of leaves upon us. My fingers run across the bark of a nearby tree, pale against the deep umber. My elven senses always come alive whenever I am in the forest. I hear everything. The whispers of the leaves, the many tongues of the wind. Even the wordless language of the trees as they bow beneath the weight of the world. The wood is rough beneath my fingertips, and a groaning purr echoes from deep within the creature's core. Smiling, I pull back and look to Legolas. The elf catches my gaze almost immediately.

_This is a beautiful forest, _I think to him. _Such as I have never seen before._

_Mirkwood once shone as brightly as this, _he replies, though his mind voice is muffled slightly. He has not yet gotten the hang of thinking his words to me instead of speaking them. _That is, before the Orcs came and ravaged it._

My gaze flickers down sadly, and I continue on in silence.

"Stay close, young hobbits," I hear Gimli say, beckoning them closer. "They say a great sorceress lives in these woods. An Elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell...and are never seen again." Frodo glances about uneasily, and it is then when I detect a foreign mind-presence among the company.

"She is speaking to him" I tell Carca. "Galadriel is calling to Frodo."  
>The Breyta perks his ears. "What does she say?"<p>

"I do not know." I squint up into the bright sun, willing myself to concentrate on the fleeting presence. "She is very wary to protect her mind from intruders. Her consciousness is both everywhere and nowhere. I cannot place it."

"Mr. Frodo?" I hear Sam inquire. He must have noticed his friend's strange expressions.

"Elves," whispers Carca. "They are coming, though I know not from where. Their numbers are great."

"Well! Here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily!" boasts Gimli. "I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

Gimli has hardly finished his sentence when he is brought to a halt by a steel-tipped arrow. A great number of Elves have emerged out of the forest, their wraps blending in with the soft woodland colors. Legolas draws up his bow, only to have three Elves surround him, their own weapons trained on his forehead. The hobbits glance about nervously, as they are also surrounded. Two Elves come to stand in front of Carca and me, arrows aimed at both of our heads. I place a hand on the wolf's shoulder, steadying him.

Stroking my companion, I watch as a lithe, golden-haired Elf steps out from behind the others, a smug expression on his face. "The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark." His voice is tinged with a strange accent that I have not yet heard.

Gimli growls at the snide comment, reluctantly stepping aside as the Elf takes in the rest of the company. His sharp grey eyes travel over each and every one of us, lingering particularly on Frodo, before coming to rest upon Carca and me. He blinks once.

"What is the creature that stands by your side?" he asks, approaching us cautiously.

"His name is Carca," I say smoothly. "And he is bound to me."

"This is no ordinary wolf." The Elf comes to stand in front of the wolf, and I am surprised to see that he towers a good head or more over him. "His eyes are far more intelligent than those of any beast that I have yet to encounter."

"You are wise to notice, for Carca is not of wolf-kind. He is a Breyta, a guardian of the Valar's Chosen Ones. Surely you have heard of them before?"

The blonde Elf does not respond, only stares. "Yes, I have heard, but his kind is beyond my knowledge." He raises his hand, and the Elves lower their bows. "Now follow, all of you." Sharp grey eyes aim a pointed look at me. "We have much to discuss."

* * *

><p>Evening has fallen by the time the elf—Haldir, I was told—leads us up to a leaf-shaped platform in the treetops. Glittering silver lights adorn the staircase on which we walk, and lanterns hang from the canopy above. Upon reaching the platform, the company comes to a standstill in front of the marchwarden, while Carca keeps to the stairs. He stretches out on the top step and eyes the Elves warily.<p>

"Mae govannen, Legolas Thrandulion," says Haldir, gesturing outwards to him in an Elvish greeting.

"Govannas vin gwennen le, Haldir o Lorien," Legolas replies.

_Since when have we stood in his debt? _I think with a frown. _All he did was point arrows at us!_

"Aragorn in Dunedain, istannen le amen," continues the elf, now turning to Aragorn.

The Ranger bows low and mumbles, "Haldir."

Gimli shuffles behind him, obviously annoyed.

"So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves," grumbles the dwarf.

Haldir's lip curls ever so slightly as he looks down upon him. "We have not had dealings with dwarves since the dark days." He spits out the last word as if they were tinged with venom. For no apparent reason, I find myself being impressed with his scathing tone.

"And you know what this dwarf says to that?" Gimli opens his mouth, preparing to retaliate.

"Nothing!" I yelp, leaping in front of him. I slap my forearm across his chest, preventing him from moving. "He has absolutely nothing to say!"

"Step away, lass," growls Gimli. "These matters do not concern you."

I ignore him and instead look up at the Elf, smiling weakly. Haldir blinks once, his arched eyebrows raised. One of the Elves behind him turns to one of his companions, whispering inaudibly.

"And who might you be?" he inquires.

"Keira Whitam, leader of the Valar's Chosen Ones. I once hailed from the city known as Brunsfarrow, which was taken by Orcs some thirty years past."

"Thrity years? I would not presume you to be over nineteen."

"I am thirty-seven," I say boldly. "And as I am half-elven, I do not age like regular mortals." I push back a strand of ebony hair, revealing a softly pointed ear.

"For twenty years my warriors and I have been purging the land of evil. We have been forced to remain in hiding, as there are foul creatures roaming about that would not hesitate to inform Sauron of our location."

Haldir's eyes flame at the mention of the Dark Lord. "Do not speak that name here," he says sharply. "For thousands of years the Lady Galadriel has kept these woods free of Orcs and other vermin. But it appears that a greater evil has managed to slip past our defenses." The marchwarden turns to Frodo. "And you are the bearer of it." There is a tense pause before he continues. "You can go no further!"

Everyone turns to look at the young hobbit, but my gaze remains fixed on Haldir.

"Do not do this to him," I say darkly. "You have no idea what he has been through to…"

A hand claps onto my shoulder, and I find myself being pulled back from the Wood-elf. My gaze is met briefly with Aragorn's as he steps up to replace me, his fingers slipping gently from my arm. Both he and Haldir move a good distance away from the group and begin to converse in hushed whispers.

"This is out of our hands," Legolas says gently, coming to stand beside me. "Let Aragorn be the one to speak."

"I suppose we both were wrong," I tell him. "It is not me that he would send away, but Frodo instead."

"Estel might yet be able to reason with him. All we must do now is wait."

Pippin shuffles towards me, his face tight with worry. "I hate waiting."

Sighing, I reach out and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against my hip. "It'll be alright, Pip."

"I know it will be. I just can't help but wonder what's going to happen to us." He looks up at me, hazel eyes brimmed with sorrow. "What would Gandalf want us to do?"

I glance over at Legolas before kneeling down in front of the hobbit. Gripping onto his arms, I look deeply into his eyes. "I don't know. None of us do. All I can tell you is that he did not die in vain." My hands slide down to his arms, squeezing gently. "Gandalf fell saving us. He knew that Strider would be fit to lead the company after he was gone. Why should we think differently?"

"You're right. We shouldn't."

I smile before placing a hand on his cheek. "I swear to you, Pippin. I will let no harm come to you for as long as I live."

"No one can promise that."

Leaning back, I take his hand in my own. "I can, and I will."

Suddenly, the sound of shuffling footsteps alerts me, and I look over to see Haldir stride up to Frodo with an intense expression.

"You will follow me."

* * *

><p>The journey to the realm known as Caras Galadhon takes us well into our second night in Lothlorien. The Elves had kindly allowed us a few hours of rest before we set out to meet the Lord and Lady. But while the company seemed to fall asleep immediately, my mind kept me awake for quite some time. My thoughts travelled back to Moria, and images of the balrog flashed before my eyes despite my fighting them away. I saw its fiery whip crack above its head, watched as the bridge splintered beneath its massive hooves. And then there was Mithrandir, gripping onto the edge of the Bridge, his pale fingers scrabbling to get a hold on the rock.<p>

Silent tears slipped down my cheeks as I remembered his last words.

And now, as we arrive at the Elf-city, those visions come back to haunt me. Pippin and Merry keep close to my side, while Aragorn guides Frodo up ahead. The silver moonlight gleams high in the sky as Haldir leads us on a smooth staircase that spirals up into the treetops. He and Legolas are the first to enter, followed closely by the hobbits and I, then lastly Carca, Gimli, and the two men. The dark Breyta seems strangely uncomfortable as he pads up the stairs, massive head swiveling about nervously. I look back at him with a frown.

_Are you alright?_

_Yes, _replies the wolf. _I simply do not like being guided by this Elf. I prefer to venture about on my own terms._

_Of course you do._

The staircase stretches upwards a good few stories before leveling out into a wide platform. In front of us lies yet another flight of stairs, although these steps are much wider than the previous ones. Dim blue lanterns have been hung on all corners of the golden overhang, and an ethereal white light shines down from the top of the stairs. Squinting slightly, I come to stand beside Legolas. His hands are clasped firmly in front of him, and he looks down at me seriously.

"Do not speak unless spoken to," he whispers. "The Lady Galadriel is unpredictable as much as she is powerful."

"If you say so."

Suddenly, the white glow brightens substantially, and I watch as the shapes of two Elves begin to take form. Both are dressed in the palest of robes, the cloth of which seems to shine like the stars themselves. As the light dims, the fair face of a she-elf appears out from it. Her piercing eyes are quick to take in the members of the company. The elf lady's partner looks on at us with a remote expression, his face slightly aged compared to Legolas and Haldir's fair features. Silvery blonde hair lays flat upon his shoulders, while his betrothed's golden locks fall in perfect ringlets down to her waist. Galadriel's features are as timeless as they are beautiful, and her sea blue gaze harbors the wisdom of countless centuries. Her pale hand comes to rest gently upon Lord Celeborn's forearm, and I find myself smiling at that small show of affection.

_They have been married for thousands of years, yet still their love for each other remains strong._

I feel the Prince stiffen beside me as the Lord and Lady come to stand before us. Gimli's mouth has fallen agape, and I resist the impulse to grin. It appears that the dwarf has fallen into the she-elf's trance, after all. Celeborn scans over the company briefly before looking to Aragorn.

"Ten there are, yet eleven there were set out from Rivendell." His tone is dry and bare of emotion. "Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him."

Galadriel's eyes are filled suddenly with a deep and unsurmountable sorrow. "He has fallen into shadow." I bow my head at the mention of Mithrandir's sacrifice. "The Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all…" The she-elf turns her gaze towards me. "Yet hope remains, while the company is true."

_Welcome, Were-rider, _her voice echoes in my head. _I have foreseen that you are to play a great role in this journey. You and your companion will find refuge here with the others._

_Many thanks, _I reply with a soft smile.

The elf lady looks upon us with a gentle expression. "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace."

Again, I sense the presence of her consciousness as she speaks to Frodo. The young hobbit looks up at her with sudden interest, his features flushed with exhaustion. I watch him carefully before turning to Haldir. The elf appears to have been watching me.

"Come," he says, offering me an elbow. "I will take you to your quarters."

I take hold of his forearm somewhat shyly as he begins to escort me back down the staircase. I can feel a dozen set of eyes watching me as I go.

Just as we round a bend in the trunk, I once again am sent a message from Galadriel. Haldir mumbles something to me pertaining to my wounds, but I can't do anything more than nod as he leads me onwards. Galadriel's voice echoes still in my ears far into the night, whispering a single sentence that does nothing but fill my heart with dread.

_We shall speak again, Keira of the Chosen. _

_We shall speak again._

* * *

><p>A bath has never felt so good in all my life.<p>

The Elves have sprinkled the water with sweet-smelling spices and oils, giving it a silken texture. Lavender petals float upon the surface, bobbing up and down with my every movement. Leaning my head against the back of the tub, I allow my eyelids to fall shut for the first time in what feels like forever. The natural sounds of Lorien's woods lull me into a deep sort of daydream. Thoughts of Karr and Sauron melt away into the dark abyss of my mind as my muscles relax, and I feel the pain from the knife wound disappear as if it were never there. A kind Elf named Thenidiel had treated the water with a concoction of medicine to help heal my injured shoulder. But that is not the only thing it has done.

Deep in my core, I feel the gentle buzzing sensation that signifies that the drake spell has lifted. My eyes snap open, and I raise my palm to see the Mark of the Chosen flicker to life on my skin.

With my strength renewed, I reach back and press my hand onto the knife wound. An aching pain shoots through the muscle, but I barely feel it. All I know is the incredible thrill as tendrils of light begin to snake out from my fingers and flow through the injured skin. The water surrounding my neck turns a deep shade of maroon as poisoned blood expels from the wound. Instant relief fills my body as the flesh binds itself together, leaving only the palest of scars.

Sighing, I grab hold of the towel hanging over the lip of the tub before rising up out of the water. The flower petals dance along on the surface as I step out onto the smooth floor of the bathing room. Cold chills creep at my toes as I wrap the cloth around myself, trying desperately to converse heat. Shivering, I glance to one of the walls and find myself gazing at my own reflection. My skin glows palely in the moonlight that shines in through the archway, contrasting sharply with the darkness of my hair. Damp ebony locks hang down to the middle of my spine, curled into tight spirals at the ends. Deep green eyes stare back at me, flecked sparsely with gold near the center.

I blink twice, startled, before turning away. It has been twenty years since I last looked into a mirror. Even my own reflection doesn't seem to recognize me anymore.

My eyes eventually wander over to the silver dress folded neatly on the chest of drawers beneath the mirror. Its fabric glimmers ethereally, and I find myself drawn to it as a moth is to a light. Tucking in the towel, I step up to the small dresser and take the Elven garb in my hands. My cold fingers grip onto the shoulder sleeves as I let the rest of it unfold. It tumbles down in a shimmering wave as I extend it out before me. Sweat breaks out on my forehead at the thought of being seen in such exquisite attire. The Fellowship have only seen me in my traveling clothes. What would they think to see me in such an outfit? My thoughts travel to Legolas, and I glower at the gown's sloped neckline.

Why must the Elves make everything so difficult?

* * *

><p>Another half an hour passes before I deem myself presentable enough to venture out of the bath house. Carca's loud snoring alerts me to the fact that it is now well past eleven, and I have already begun to feel exhaustion weighing down on my body. After a solid week of having no more than three hours of sleep each night, my shaking legs signify that I might collapse at any given moment.<p>

The fresh night air prickles at my face as I make my way down the treetop steps and into an open area of courtyard. My Elven slippers make no sound as I stride across the forest floor, gazing about at my surroundings. Silver lights flicker all around me, their beauty matched only by the stars that glimmer out from the heavens. The sky is clear save for a few wisps of cloud, out from which shines Elendial in all her glory. I am in the midst of admiring her cold glow when I first hear them. The voices of Elves, gentle and smooth, carried out through the wind and up into the starlight.

_A Olórin i yáresse_

_Mentaner i Númenherui_

_Tírien i Rómenóri _

_Maiaron i Oiosaila_

_Manan elye etevanne_

_Nórie i melanelye?_

The lyrics are both beautiful and tragic. It is a lament to Gandalf, who was perhaps an even greater friend to them. The Lothlorien Elves are known both for their grace and songs. And now, as I stand beneath the stars, I can feel the pain in each of their hearts as well as I can my own. My chest swells as the lyrics crescendo into a new verse.

And this time, I sing a lament of my own.

_Diminished is he, our savior and friend,_

_Taken by the sting of fate's dark bend._

_Mithrandir, Mithrandir,_

_The wise and kind of heart,_

_O how I weep that our paths should part._

My voice falls short at the end, and tears spring up in my eyes. The melodies continue, all echoing the same sorrow and tragic loss. Death. Despair. Heartbreak. I brace my arm on a tree trunk in order to remain stable, as I have begun to sway as a weak pine does in the wind. The silver dress billows out beneath me, the blue jewels in its neckline glittering in the moonlight. I force myself to swallow the growing lump in my throat in order to continue my song.

_What shall become of the world at nigh?_

_Will all stars shatter and fall from the sky?_

_Surely, Grey Pilgrim, they all shall fade,_

_For you, the brightest one, are clouded by shade._

A gentle hand comes to rest upon my forearm, warm against the chills on my skin. I look up to see the face of Legolas gazing down upon me. He is dressed in a shining silver tunic which falls down past his waist, and his hair falls unbraided over his shoulders. His sapphire eyes are filled with sympathy, something that I thought he was unable to possess.

"Keira," he says softly. "Mithrandir would have wept, should his ears have been touched by the beauty of your voice. You sing with more grace than I have yet beholden in all my years of living."

My cheeks flush a light ruby, and I smile up at him. "You need not flatter me, Prince. I have not the voice of the celestials, but I feel as though it is able enough to join with those of the Lorien Elves."

Legolas simply smiles. "The company has been inquiring after you. Do you wish to join them?"

"Yes."

"Then let us walk together." He extends out an elbow. For a moment I am too stunned to move and can do nothing but stare at his arm. The elf frowns at my hesitation.

"Are you well?" he asks.

"Yes, yes, of course. I'm just a bit shaken up."

"Over what?"

I shake my head. "Everything, really. I feel as though my heart has been torn in two."

"As is mine."

I cock my head. "Really? In what way?"

"Being here, among Elf-kind, brings to rise thoughts of Mirkwood. I miss my home dearly, but then again, I am sure that you long for yours, as well."

"My home was destroyed when I was but a girl, yet still I hope to see its broken walls restored. Brunsfarrow has always held a place in my heart that is very dear to me. I only wish that someday, that special place might be filled with a longing for a new home, one that I shall remain in until I die." My gaze falls to the ground. "But that is not how life will have it. Not yet."

This is a short silence between us. "Will you ever be freed from your duties as Were-rider?"

I give a small sigh. "I do not know. Even if we did manage to purge Sauron from the world, there will still be plenty of Orcs to take care of. I will not rest until each and every one of those filthy creatures has been eradicated."

"If need be, I will assist you with that matter."

I smile up at him and, having gathered my courage, I loop my arm through his.

"Perhaps so."

And together, we begin our long trek towards the Fellowship.

* * *

><p>They don't seem to recognize me. Not at first. As Legolas and I round a bend, arm and arm, I am surprised to see the hobbits leaning up against a tree to our right. They appear to be locked in a deep conversation. Aragorn sits several feet away and notices us at once. But as he looks up at us, I see his eyes widen with shock.<p>

"My lady Keira," he says, rising to his feet. "You look well."

I glance away, suddenly self-conscious, before replying. "Thank you, Aragorn."

There is a small scuffling sound, and I am surprised to see Boromir come to stand behind him. I had hardly noticed the man, as his darker garbs blend better into the night. He opens his mouth, and I feel the Prince's arm tighten around my own.

"I am sorry for what I said in Moria," the Gondorian says. "Could you ever be willing to forgive me?"

"I forgave you long ago, Boromir. It is but a humble respect that you need yet earn from me. Once you have done so, perhaps then we might think of mending our friendship." My hard stare bores into his own. "But I know not if there was ever one to start."

"I assure you, Lady Keira, it will not happen again."

I give Boromir a curt nod. Legolas exhales deeply, obviously relieved that there was not a confrontation. My arm slips soundlessly from his, and I turn towards the hobbits. Merry's eyes are bright with awe as he looks up at me.

"You _are _an elf!" he exclaims. "Just look at you! You might as well be glowing!" I smile sheepishly as I kneel down beside him.

"Only half," I say, folding my hands in my lap. "How are you, my friend?"

"Quite well, my lady. Only… I do miss Gandalf." The metal circlet adorning my forehead suddenly feels as cold as ice.

"I do, too." Glancing up, I am surprised to find that the three other hobbits have crept over to join us. Legolas looks on from afar, his fair face aglow with renewed warmth.

"I heard your voice," Pippin says. "When the Elves were singing… I heard you join with them. Legolas was to first to mention it. That's why he went looking for you." The Halfling looks up at me with a soft expression. "He cares for you greatly, Keira. There's no hiding it."

"Why would I hide it? I value his friendship now more than ever. All of you hold places in my heart that are very dear to me. Surely you must know that?"

"Of course we do," says Frodo calmly. "For you as well are kept close in ours. You have been a good friend not just to me, but to us all. I only wish that there was some way to repay you."

"Such a simple thing does not need to be repaid."

"But you've done so much good for us!" Sam cries. "There's got to be somethin' we can do!"

Several locks of hair fall over my shoulders as I lean towards him. Arms outstretched, I pull the hobbit closer to me until my chin is resting upon the top of his head. "Live, Sam." My eyes fall closed as I feel the others lean against me, their frosty breaths small against the nap of my neck. A single tear slips out of the corner of my eye before plopping down onto Sam's curly hair. "Live. That is all I ask of you."

Minutes pass, and one by one the tired Halfings begin to drift off to sleep. Their snores thrum in my ears as I, too, find myself being pulled down into the realm of dreams. Five hearts, all beating out the same rhythm. Rhythmic, unchanging. Beautiful.

If only life could let us remain this way forever.

I feel him now. Legolas. His presence lingers above me like the shadow of a flame, bright and constant yet dark and fleeting. Deft fingers stroke away the tear stains on my cheeks. Brush strands of hair back from my ears. So soft. A hum of pleasure sounds from my lips, but I do not attempt to conceal it. I am far too tired now to even think about resisting the strong arms that wrap around my knees and neck. My head flops limply against his shoulder, and as my body begins to sink into the deep calm of sleep, I find myself being lifted off the ground. The soothing smell of soap and leaves fills my nose as I press my face into the fabric of his tunic, oblivious to everything else. Something warm falls slowly upon my forehead, and I instantly recognize the smoothness of the Prince's skin against my own.

My arm swings uselessly at my side, occasionally brushing by tree-trunks and railings, before finally coming to rest upon something large and plush. I feel my body being lowered down until I am fully laying on the object, which I have somehow deemed to be a bed. A small hissing sound ensues, and I find myself being draped over by a thin layer of sheets. Their light fabric ruffles in the breeze as strong hands tuck them underneath me before sliding up to my shoulders. Lips dance along the crease in my brow, gliding smoothly across the skin as water would over glass.

"Sleep well, dear Keira." His breath is of pale mint and wine. "Sleep well."

And then, like a ghost in the night, he is gone.

* * *

><p>Several long hours have passed by the time I come to once more. My eyes flutter open, squinting in the fading moonlight. The songs of the Elves has vanished away, replaced by the regular sounds of the forest. Birds chortle in the treetops, wishing for dawn's sweet light to come upon the horizon. Our first day in Lothlorien has yet to begin.<p>

_Were-rider._

The word echoing in my ears is as clear as day, but it does not come from my own thoughts. Frowning, I slide down from the bed and make my way towards the arch door.

"Is anyone there?" I call, peering around inquisitively. No reply comes. Only silence.

_Were-rider._

I startle slightly. The voice is familiar, yet so foreign. I can't yet place it.

_Come to me, wolf-keeper._

"Is something wrong?"

I look around to see Carca standing a foot or so away from me, his eyes a brilliant gold against the grey morning sky.

"No," I reply hastily. "I am quite fine. I was simply hoping to go for a dawn walk."

"But it is still the wee hours!"

"I know, but I cannot sleep. My mind is awake, and thus my body shall be, as well."

The Breyta blinks once before nodding. "Do not wander far," he says dully, lifting his wings. "I will wait for your return here."

I smile over at him. "I won't be long."

Carca cranes his muzzle up until we are eye to eye. "Abide, Keira. Do not forget to abide." He touches his nose to mine and closes his eyes for the briefest of moments before pulling back and disappearing through the dark archway.

_Were-rider._

The voice is stronger now. Willing me to come towards it and whatever lies in the deep forest of Lothlorien.

And now there is nothing to stop me from following it.

* * *

><p>I wander for what feels like an age before coming upon her.<p>

She is standing in a small, forgotten glade, surrounded by tall trees and golden leaves. Before her lies a round stone pedestal, and she holds clutched in her hands a silver basin. Her hair is pale in the morning hour, but her eyes are bright with intrigue and wisdom. There is no smile on her lips.

"You heard my calls," Galadriel says darkly, watching as I descend the tall staircase leading down to the hollow.

"I did."

The she-elf watches me closely as I come to stand a respectable distance in front of her. My eyes flit briefly towards the pedestal. I now note that it is filled to the brim with clear water, rippling gently as a leaf comes to rest upon its surface. Galadriel remains motionless.

"Your future is dark," she whispers, placing a hand on the stone. "Filled with war and anger and hatred. The life ahead of you is clouded by shade and despair. I can hardly see into it without causing my own self grief." The Elf Lady extends her fingers out to the water before gently plucking out the leaf. Dampened, it falls soundlessly to the ground. "But there is also hope, while your courage remains. That I can assure you."

"Is that the reason you have called me here?" I ask, pacing slowly. "To tell me the grim news of my future?"

"No, child." Galadriel's gaze softens. "I wish to warn you. Things are not as they seem."

My brow furrows. "How so?"  
>"Not even I can tell you that," she says. "It is but a simple feeling that darkens my thoughts. Your time has yet to come, Keira of the Chosen Ones, but when it does…" Galadriel pauses, and her features seem to shadow over substantially. "Nothing will be the same."<p>

"Forgive me, my lady, but you speak in riddles!"

The she-elf blinks knowingly and runs a finger along the lip of the basin. Off in the distance, I hear the warble of a sparrow.

"There is but one question that I must ask of you now." The Lady of Light extends a hand to the pedestal. Almost immediately, I feel a strange presence pulling me towards the water, luring me towards to look at it more closely. Wide ripples spread across its surface, as if the pool was disturbed by some unseen creature. The world around me seems to darken as I take a step towards it. My heart pounds in my ears like the booming drums I heard in Moria. Louder and louder until it seems to be consuming everything I am. My very being. But then, there is a new sound. A voice, a question, even, echoes in the abyss around me, hollow and repetitive as it draws closer and closer. Galadriel's eyes are the only thing I can see as her words tumble endlessly through the darkness before reaching my wary ears.

_Will you look into the mirror?_

* * *

><p><strong>Hello again, my dear followers! I hope you all are doing well! This is a bit of a slower chapter, but I promise there will be more action in the ones to come! What did y'all think of it? Feel free to drop by a review and let me know!<strong>

**Have a great weekend!**

**-PC**


	23. Betrayed

**Hello again, dearies! Hope you enjoy the new chapter!**

* * *

><p>Darkness. Ripples of time and space, spilt into millions of crystalline fragments. Starlight fails to shine in the deep pits of Galadriel's mirror, for there is no reflection. Not even that of my own face. Only the dead smoothness of the water as it spreads out before me, cold and blue. Somehow, impossibly, I feel the she-elf's icy gaze on me. It pierces flesh and bone, soul and conscience. My entire being seems to unfold to her like an open book.<p>

Suddenly, thick waves begin to spread out from the pool's center, forming the image of a familiar figure. Carca. His thick fur ruffles in the wind as he stands upon the shores of a great sea, silhouetted by the setting sun. The golden rays climb high over his obsidian wings as he holds them erect, proud and tall in his stance. Then, as if somehow noticing my presence, the Breyta looks over his shoulder.

The eyes that meet mine are not Carca's. They are hard and red, like puddles of blood poured into hollow, empty cavities. Gleaming with all the fires of Isenguard and Mordor combined.

The dark wolf opens his mouth, revealing serrated fangs and a flickering forked tongue. Ruby flames lisp out from his nostrils. Then, slowly, Carca's black fur begins to melt away into the glinting, metallic scales of a serpent. His wings elongate into fleshy sheets barbed with hooked talons. Twin horns sprout from the base of his skull.

My eyes widen, and I am about to look away when the image shifts. It now depicts the aftermath of what appears to be a great battle. Members of various races lay dead on the tan, dusty ground. Elves, Men, Orcs, and horses. A red sun bathes the earth in its looming crimson glow. But the battered corpses are not what draw my attention. It is the thin, silvery glint coming from the hair of an Elf, one whose chest still heaves in an attempt to draw breath. Streaks of maroon stain his neck and torso, and five ugly claw marks ravage the paling skin on his face. A splinted bow is clutched in his hand.

Dread courses through my veins as the picture panes closer. Now I am looking upon him in clarity. Two blue eyes, terribly familiar, gaze up at the heavens. Though they are fogged by pain, it is nigh impossible to overlook the despair hidden within their infinite depths. White lips, dead lips, part slightly in a whisper.

"Keira," comes a croaking voice from deep within his throat. "I have… failed you."

"No, Legolas," I whisper, willing myself to draw closer. But I cannot. He doesn't see me. I am but a ghost to him, something untraceable that does not belong. Not here, not anywhere. My hands stretch out towards his wavering image, fingers longing to smooth out his bloodied hair. To heal his horrible wounds. To wipe away the tears that drip down from his lashes.

But I am too late.

Legolas heaves in one last, shaking breath before going still. His body lolls to the right, and only then do I notice the two tiny forms lying beside him. Their curly hair, shining a brilliant copper, is flecked with blood. I feel my heart turn to ice.

_Merry. Pippin. Oh great Illuvatar, let it not be true!_

A single teardrop falls from my eye before splashing down into the mirror. Disrupted, the water ripples once before settling onto another image, this time revealing the face of none other than Faelwen, my own mother. She is seated upon a great black stallion, her hands clutched firmly onto the reins. The she-elf's green eyes are brimmed with moisture as she looks upon Rivendell from atop a sloping ledge. Great plumes of smoke rise up from the center of the cliff city. Flames flicker out from the ruins of its Elf-made buildings. The garbled cries of Orcs slice through the quiet air like knives through butter. Faelwen flinches. Then, in one swift motion, she draws up the hood to her cloak and ushers her steed down the mountain pass, leaving behind the carnage of her home. No sooner has she disappeared from view than another Elf appears. It is Elrond, Lord of Imladris, atop a speckled grey mare. He carries in his arms the unmoving body of a dark-haired elleth. A white dress caresses her smooth skin, and the she-elf's forehead is adorned with a thin silver circlet. Her arm, dull and colorless, swings limply by her side as Elrond's horse ferries the both of them across the path. There are tears in the Elf-lord's eyes as he gazes down upon the motionless form he hugs tight to his chest. It is in that moment, when I see the grief etched onto his features, that it hits me. The woman he carries is not just any elleth. She is his only daughter, Arwen, the fair grandchild of the Lady Galadriel herself. Born of light and pure of heart, yet now hanging limp in her father's arms.

Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar of Rivendell, is dead.

My hands grip hard onto the lip of the pedestal as a fourth image shimmers onto the pool's surface. It shows Mount Doom erupting into inferno, rumbling and crackling and smiting its rage upon the land. Liquid fire plagues the earth in raging rivers, melting ash into nonexistence. Then comes a noise that is unlike the booms of the volcano. It is deep and guttural, but all the same harbors a foreign shrillness that sends shivers down my spine. My eyes widen as the smoke dissipates momentarily, revealing the enormous, fiery form of a dragon. Its long neck cranes upwards, arching out towards the reddened sky. The creature's glittering jaws fall agape, and out from its throat comes a great plume of red flame. It surges upwards into the clouds as a pair of leathery wings unfold from either side of the drake's golden body.

_Were-rider._

Karr's burning gaze comes to rest upon me as he slithers down from the mountain side. His tail lashes out in agitation, and sparks rain down from the fire-lit scales. Chapped lips raise up to reveal ashen grey fangs that drip with magma.

"I will burn them," hisses the serpent, his tongue flicking. "I will burn_ all_ of them." He raises up a shining forepaw, and it is only then that I notice the golden-orange band on his massive finger. My heart skips a beat, jolting my body in its stuttering terror.

Karr opens his jaws, and waves of flame slam directly into the mirror's surface. I give a small yelp and leap backwards, wrenching myself away from the water's magnetic pull. The real world dances into focus as the void disappears, and I am left to pick up the shattered remains of my heart.

Galadriel gazes down at me icily. "That fate of the world hangs by a single thread. Should your efforts be in vain, Middle Earth will fall to fire and ruin. You know this."

"The others… they were…" Choking back a sob, I force myself to brave the she-elf's powerful stare. "I once thought myself able to defend Arda, but now… I do not know if I can do this, my lady." My lip quivers slightly. "How can I sentence my friends to death?"

"They will follow you, Keira, no matter the danger." Galadriel reaches out and takes hold of my hand, her smooth palms clasping over my own. "You are strong, and pure of heart. Do not let yourself be overcome by fear." Her blue eyes soften. "Do not let Mithrandir's sacrifice to be in vain."

"I assure you, it will not be."

Her face somber, the Elf lady releases my hand in order to draw a finger along the scars on my shoulder. "You are so young to have experienced so much pain and despair. Be it the Valar's will, I wish you as much peace as there can be on this journey, for you alone are deserving of it."

I swallow hard and force a smile. "Thank you."

Galadriel's lips twitch slightly. "You are welcome, my dear." The gentle coos of a morning dove move her to glance upwards at the treetops. Thin rays of sunlight have begun to filter into the hollow through gaps in the leaves. Golden boughs sway back and forth as a gentle breeze snakes its way down into the forest. The fair she-elf closes her eyes momentarily before turning to me. "The others will awaken soon. We need not worry them of your disappearance."

"Agreed." I pivot on heel and begin the short walk back to the stairs, desperate to be free of the mirror and its dark tidings.

"Keira."

Freezing midstride, I glance back over my shoulder. "Yes, my lady?"

Her blue eyes glimmer like sapphires in the dim light of dawn. "Keep a wary eye. Even the closest of friends can become your enemies, should evil overcome their hearts."

I blink once before turning round to face her once more. "You have the gift of foresight. Tell me what it is you know, and I will ask no more of you."

"Your future is for you to decide, and you alone," she says. "To speak of the things I've seen would risk diverting you from fate's chosen path. I cannot take that risk."

"Please, Galadriel, I beg of you. How am I to protect them if I know not what is to come?"

"You will see…" She pauses. "In time."

Anger begins to give rise within me, but I force it back down. "Then so be it." With that I whip back around and disappear up the staircase.

* * *

><p>"Where've you been off to, lass?"<p>

Gimli plods up to me, his dark dwarven attire contrasting sharply against the light backdrop of Lorien. A flame-red beard is plastered to one side of his face, and his eyes are dreary with sleep.

"A pre-dawn walk." The lie rolls off my tongue smoother than it should, and I swallow guiltily. "And what of yourself?"

Gimli sighs heavily. "Honestly, I don't have the slightest clue. The days 've all gone by in a blur."

I gaze down at him sympathetically before clasping my hands together. "Have you by chance happened to see Legolas roaming about?"

"There's no telling where the Princeling may have wandered off too. He's been very strange actin', if you must know. Hardly speaking, pacing back and forth, acting quite peculiar."

My brow furrows. "Has something happened that I am not aware of?"

Gimli shakes his head. "You needn't worry for him, m'lady. I'm sure it's nothing."

_Keira._

Carca's voice rings sound in my ears, and I crane my neck up to see him perched on one of the larger trees that towers up above me. His form is but a shadow amidst the bright Lorien leaves. The limb on which he resides has begun to buckle beneath his weight.

Looking down at Gimli, I shoot him a bright smile. "Forgive me, but it seems that I have been summoned elsewhere."

The dwarf waves me off as I turn on heel and make for the staircase leading up to the tree. Sharp golden eyes watch me as I ascend before coming to a standstill on the platform below him. The Breyta spreads his wings, allowing the crisp winter breeze to catch onto the feathers as he glides down next to me.

"You should not have deceived me," says Carca, glowering dangerously.

"I meant no deceit. I knew not what the Lady Galadriel wished to show me."

The dark wolf paces irritably, his claws rapping hard against the polished surface.

"Then I am left with no other choice but to believe you." Carca pauses in front of me. "What did she show you?"

Sighing, I twiddle with the ends of my hair. "Something that I wish never again to bear witness to. She had called it a mirror, though to my eyes it was nothing but a pool of water." A shudder racks up my spine. "But it began to pull at me. Harder and harder until I was standing before it. The world around me grew dim, and I saw…" Words fail me, and I am forced to me knees as I struggle to regain them. "I saw horrible things, Carca. Terrible things, filled with pain and despair, so much that I cannot tell them to you for fear of breaking my own heart."

The Breyta bends down to look at me, his amber eyes filled with worry. "Why would the she-elf do such a thing?"

"To warn me." I extend my palm, and a wavering image of a dragon flickers to life atop it. "Karr grows in strength with every passing hour. Sauron's forces amass in the heart of Mordor. Saruman's horde putrefies in the east. It is only a matter of time before they turn their attention upon us."

Carca tilts his head. "Is that the only thing you wish to tell me?"

My hand begins to tremble, and Karr's swirling image dances in and out of focus. "I learned something else about him. The Lypta King."

"What? What did you learn?"

The dragon disappears from my palm and is replaced by the glowing replica of a volcano. "Karr resides deep within the heart of Mount Doom. He dwells in its magma, feeding from the heat it produces like a leach. If Frodo manages to cast the Ring into those fires, there is a possibility, however remote, that Karr would be able to take possession of it before it melted."  
>Carca bristles. "Are you sure of this?"<p>

"As sure as I'll ever be. One of the… visions I saw was of Karr clambering over the lip of the mountain. One of his scaled fingers bore the Ring of Power."

"That is impossible," seethes the Breyta. "Sauron would demand it be given to himself, not that vile drake!"

"As much as the Dark Lord is powerful, he is also a fool to think that Karr will remain his loyal servant. Once the dragon's own powers have reached their full potential, he will no longer be subject to Sauron or Saruman. The amount of damage he could do is far beyond my own comprehension."

My companion gives a low growl. "He has begun to send me visions, Keira. I have heard his voice in my head of late, speaking of dark omens."

I feel my heart sinks. "What omens? Are they the same ones that I told to you?"

"Nay, Keira, these are far different. They are directed towards me, and me alone." Carca's stare bores into me. "So dark are his words that I dare not speak of them here."

"Later," I say, placing a hand on his muscled shoulder. "When we take our leave."

We exchange a long glance before Carca steps back. "I go to hunt."  
>"Then I shall await your return." I smile warmly. "Be safe, my friend."<p>

"As always." He leans forward and gently brushes his muzzle against my cheek. Soft fur tickles at my skin, and I stroke under his chin before planting a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"I'm sorry about how I've been acting lately. This whole ordeal has done nothing but cause me more strife, but that is no reason to treat you poorly."

"You need not apologize," Carca says, his voice vibrating in my chest. "We are joined, Keira, bound by a bond even greater than blood. You are the reason I am standing here today." A massive paw comes to rest on my shoulder. "You are my life."

I hug his neck tightly. "And you are mine."

We exchange a long embrace, and when alas he takes his leave, I am left feeling both filled and empty at the same time. Because I can feel the hard eyes boring into the back of my neck. I can sense the icy stare of a presence that lingers behind me. A breeze shifts through my hair, blowing it back from my face as I turn my gaze up to the sky, willing the sunlight to break through the canopy of leaves.

"You're up early."

I glance back over my shoulder to see Legolas towering over me, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Steely blue eyes seem to glow in the dawning light.

"Legolas," I say dryly. "What brings you here at such an hour?"

"I could ask the same of you." The Elf attempts a smile, but it quickly morphs into a frown. "You seem troubled."

"Not any more than usual. It is frankly impossible to be at peace during times such as these." you Legolas comes to sit beside me. Our shoulders brush together, a fleeting thing, but that is all it takes to send shivers throughout my body. I note that his Lorien garbs smell sweetly of honeysuckle.

"Aye," he tells me, "it is." His hair, having been freshly braided, falls in a glinting sheet down his shoulders. For no reason in particular, I find myself staring at it.

The Prince is quick to catch on. "Is something wrong?"

"No!" I exclaim quickly. Legolas quirks an eyebrow.

"Then why are you staring at me?"

"I am not staring at you."

"You were."

"Trust me, I was most definitely _not_ staring at you."  
>"I beg to differ."<p>

"Legolas!" I gasp, smacking him lightly on the forearm. "Give it a rest!"

The elf chuckles. "If that is what you wish."

Together, we sit in a comfortable silence and watch as the sun peaks over the horizon. Its golden light bleaches over the dull landscape, turning the treetops a brilliant orange. Birds flutter above us, trilling and nipping at one another. Squirrels and other woodland creatures bound from branch to branch, sending leaves raining down to earth.

Legolas is the first to break the quiet. "You worry for him, don't you?"

"Who? Carca?" I sigh and pull my knees closer to my chest. "Sometimes. He can be so reckless. It is as if he thinks that he is indestructible."

"You were just like him." The Prince peers over at me. "When I first met you, your boldness and strength was the first thing that caught my eye. You had such a brave heart for one so young." He draws in a heavy breath. "I only wish that I had not treated you so poorly."

"Come now," I chide. "You didn't treat me poorly. I had invaded your realm, and thus was to be taken in as an intruder. For all you knew, I could have been an Orc spy."

Legolas makes a tsking noise. "Then you would have been very effective, as that was the least of my suspicions."

I rise up onto my knees and angle my body to face him. "You never suspected? Not even once?"

"No, I did not."

The corner of my lip curls upwards to form a quirked smile. "Impressive. Was I really that charming?"

"That is not exactly the word I would use."

I raise my eyebrows. "Dare I ask what _exactly _that word might be?"

Legolas opens his mouth to speak just as a shout echoes out from the forest below. Thrills of fear prick across my arms as Legolas and I get to our feet. The elf peers down over the edge of the platform, his posture tensed.

"What was that?" I ask him urgently.

"I do not know," he says. "Perhaps it was—"

Another shout, this time louder and clearer. I cannot make out what the person is saying, only that they possess a very high, trilling Elvish accent. An accent that somehow seems familiar.

Squinting, I come to stand beside Legolas and place a hand on his forearm.

"I know it," I say.

A glinting curtain of blond hair slaps me in the face as the elf whips around towards me. "What?"

"I know that voice."

Recognition sparks in his pale eyes, and he grabs hold of my hand. "Come with me."

* * *

><p>Legolas quite nearly drags me down the winding steps and out into the woods. I am forced to jog to keep up with his long strides. My thin Elvish slippers are reduced to virtually nothing as they pound against the hard forest floor. Soon I am able to feel the coolness of the earth beneath my toes.<p>

Minutes pass, blurring by until they are nothing but smears of faded time. Legolas has taken me so far that we have nearly reached the furthermost end of Caras Galedhon's borders. My lungs have begun to burn as I draw in breath after ragged breath.

But just as I think that my legs might collapse beneath me, we come to a stop beside a wide-mouthed pool. Its glittering water is so still that it hardly appears to be real at all. A robin flutters down to perch upon its side, warbling softly. My brow furrows in confusion, and I look to Legolas for an explanation.

"Why have you brought me here?"

The elf makes no reply and instead gestures out deeper into the forest ahead of me. "There." I follow his gaze, carefully taking in every plant and pebble, just as something large and white streaks past us. A bold flash of auburn catches my eye as the creature disappears into the undergrowth. I gasp softly.

"Impossible," I say. My gaze flits to Legolas. "That's impossible, isn't it?"

The elf looks down at me and grins. "Shall we go find out?"

"I hate it when you don't answer me."

His eyes glint mischievously. "I know."

And with that we make our way back to the city.

She hasn't aged. Not a single year.

The she-elf appears to be in a mild confrontation with a Lothlorien guard when Legolas and I emerge from the forest boundary. Her red hair is adorned with various wildflowers, forming a circlet around her forehead. She clutches the reins to an enormous grey stallion, and I watch as her knuckles grow increasingly paler with strain.

"…cannot believe this," I hear her trill. "He will throw me in the dungeons should it be revealed that I lied to him! Please, I beg of you. At least let me talk to her, if only for a moment."

"She has gone," is all the guard says, his white-blonde hair framing his imposing features. "I know not where."

The tawny-haired she-elf gives a little huff before turning away from him. Her eyes flit over the various trees and towering staircases before coming to rest on me. Our gazes meet, emerald and amber, earth and fire. She gapes wordlessly as I come to stand a few feet in front of her. Legolas no longer remains beside me, but I don't have to look back to know that he is still here. He is always here.

"Hello, sister." My mouth curls into a smile. "It has been a long time."

Antiel gasps, her grip on the reins reduced to nothing. "Keira! You're… you're here!" She begins to stumble over to me. "Oh blessed Valar, I knew you would come."

"Is something wrong?" I inquire, reaching out to grasp her hands. They are shockingly cold.

"Keira," she whispers. "Dear Keira, something is very, very wrong." She glances downwards, and I note that her eyes have begun to glisten with tears.

"Tell me, Antiel. Tell me what it is!"

My sister wipes at her lashes before braving my gaze once more. "Mirkwood has been overrun."

"I beg your pardon?" It is Legolas speaking now. He steps up next to me, blue eyes aflame. Antiel shrinks back, and I hear her horse let out a small squeal.

"There were three of them," she says. "Fire drakes. They came from the East in a wave of fire, scorching the trees and reducing our warriors to ash and bone. When I left not two days ago, they had already begun to lay siege to the Woodland Realm."

"And what of my father?" demands Legolas.

Antiel swallows hard. "I fear that they have taken him captive."

All the color drains from the Prince's features, and I am hit with the utter reality of the situation. The so called 'Fire Drakes' are the Lypta. It would have been better if Thranduil were captured by genuine dragons, for they are natural creatures. The Lypta are not. They were created solely to destroy and overcome. They are trained to kill in the most terrible ways imaginable. But one thing has always remained the same. They never, ever take prisoners.

Until now.

And I am solely to blame.

"I must go to him." Legolas's words are hollow, void of emotion. He begins to shuffle away from me.

"No," I say forcefully, gripping onto his elbow. "Your place is with the Fellowship."

The elf wrenches his arm away, and the brute force of it sends me stumbling back several paces. "And leave my father to die?" he snarls. "Is that what you are asking me to do?"

"You cannot abandon them. Not now. Not with Mithrandir's death still hanging over their heads." I step up to him and places my hands on either side of his face. "They need you, Legolas."

Realization hits him hard. His eyes widen, and he grabs hold of my wrists before pulling my hands down to rest between his. "No, Keira. Mirkwood is my home. You would have no reason to—"

"Yes, I would!" Much to my surprise, I feel a tear break free of my eyelashes. "That forest is where I met you, Legolas. It holds more memory to me than I am able to express." I draw in a shuddering breath, trying desperately to fight back sobs. I know what I must do. No matter how much it hurts, I know that duty comes above all else. And there is nothing that can stop me from fulfilling it.

"The Riders will help me," I continue. "At my command they will come to aid us."

Legolas gazes at me for a long moment before finally saying, "I do not want to lose you. Not again."

I smile sadly. "There are always risks that must be taken in war. But I will do everything in my power to come back to you. I swear."

"Keira," Antiel says suddenly. "Please forgive me, but we haven't much time. I know of your rank among the Chosen Ones. Taluharn was quick to fill me in before I came here." She pauses. "Will you fight for us, sister?"

I try to speak, but words seem to fail me, and I look back to Legolas. "Tell them that I will return. Tell them that I would never abandon them under any other circumstances." The Prince nods once, his eyes filled with sorrow.

"I would not let you do this if I thought you any less capable. But I know deep in my heart that your strength will forever be beyond my ability to fathom." He reaches out and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. His fingertips linger on my skin, and I place mine overtop them.

"See you soon," I whisper, then turn to Antiel. "Lead on." The she-elf nods once, her expression relieved, before jogging back to her horse. Sighing, I turn my palm upwards and send a volt of electricity crackling up into the sky. Almost immediately, I feel Carca's presence in my head.

_Carca, hear me. Something has happened in Mirkwood. I need you._

There is a low humming sound, followed by a deep rumble. But then I hear the two words that I love and dread at the same time.

_I come._

My heart gives a painful tug as I cast one last glance at Legolas. His once playful mood seems to dim with every passing moment, replaced by a deep sorrow that not even I can help him with. After all, I am the source of his pain.

Then, before I can even think about speaking, he steps forward and pulls me into his arms. My breath hitches, and I bury my face into his tunic, taking in his warm scent. This might be the last time I see him. Ever. Either one of us could be killed at any moment. Even amidst the trees of Lothlorien, we are vulnerable.

But right now, folded within his strong arms, I have never felt so safe.

"Take care of them for me, Legolas. The hobbits. They'll look up to you now." For one moment, one single, beautiful moment, I let myself forget. I forget about the Lypta, about my duties. All of them vanish into the deep abyss of my mind as I cling to one I hold most dear. My first friend, who has been with me during my darkest times and seen me at my utmost worst. He is what has held me together[DC1] . My rock. My defender. He and Carca both.

And my love for them burns stronger than ever.

There is a tell-tale whooshing sound that signals my companion's arrival, and it takes everything I have within me to pull away from Legolas. The warmth of his skin against mine vanishes in an instant, replaced by the icy cold winter drafts that snake their way through the trees. The elf whispers something in my ear, but Carca's booming voice overpowers him.

"What is wrong, Keira?"

Setting my jaw, I turn on heel to face him. His golden eyes are pinched with worry and distress. The silver fur on his muzzle winks in the sunlight.

"My half-sister, Antiel, has brought grave news from Mirkwood," I say aloud, then mentally. _The Lytpa have invaded its borders and taken King Thranduil captive._

The Breyta's ears flatten at the mention of Sauron's dark servants, and his next words are spoken only in my head. _They are luring you in, Keira. We cannot take the bait!_

"If Mirkwood falls, I would never forgive myself!" My voice comes out shriller than I meant it, and Carca flinches. His yellow eyes are bold with unease. Breathing in deeply, I step towards the wolf and place a hand on his ebony face. "Please, Carca. I cannot let that happen."

My companion gives a shaky sigh before flapping his wings once. "If that is what you wish. But we cannot face them alone. We must call to the other Riders for aid if we are to succeed."

"My thoughts exactly," I say, swinging myself onto his saddle. I then look to my sister. "Antiel, you and your horse are able only to travel on foot, whereas Carca and I can fly overhead twice as fast. We will make for the Riders' cave to gather our forces. If the weather permits, we should reach Mirkwood by sundown tomorrow."

The she-elf nods once, and before I know it she has mounted her horse and disappeared into the golden wood. Having witnessed her departure, I tug open a large pack attached to Carca's saddle and draw out Aduial. The Elven smiths had made sure to sharpen it for me while I slept. Its edges are now as wicked as they ever were. The sword's gem-studded hilt has been polished and shined, and I take a moment to admire it before tapping at Carca's sides.

"Let us be gone."

And then, in an instant, we do just that.

* * *

><p>We have been flying for most of the day when the tang of smoke first begins to fill the air. Black and clogging, it rises up in great plumes on the horizon, bringing the scent of ash and death along with it.<p>

"Please let him be alright," I whisper, bending low upon Carca's back. "Please let Thranduil be alive."

"He will be." My dark companion steals a glance at me. "I do not think that things are as they seem."

I frown. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Your elf-sister," he says. "I do not trust her."

"Why not? She seemed frightened, Carca. Do not be so quick to judge her by the state she was in."

"It was not her appearance that worried me. It was the look in her eyes when we spoke together mentally." Carca flaps his wings twice, sending us spiraling up into the clouds. "I could have sworn she was listening to us."

"That's impossible," I say. "Antiel does not have abilities such as we do. There is no logical reason that proves she could hear us."

There is a low rumble as the Breyta dodges through a patch of storm clouds. Heavy raindrops pound my forehead, and a powerful volt of lightning spears down several feet away from us. Carca is quick to duck downwards to avoid being struck. For a few agonizing moments we are flying blindly through the grey mist before, suddenly, we find ourselves once again soaring through clear skies. The storm seems to have been drawn away towards the West. I breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

Far below us, Antiel and her steed are but a sliver of white against the otherwise golden grasslands leading up to Mirkwood. But despite the serene beauty of the country, it is hard to ignore the smell of smoke still rank upon the winter breeze. I scrunch my nose in distaste.

"How much farther to the Cave?" I inquire.

Carca grumbles something inaudible before replying. "Not much longer now. Just past that mountain ridge." He nods to the dark silhouette of a cliff some distance in the horizon. "We should be in communication range within the hour. I can already catch the scent of some of our patrols."

"The only thing I can smell is smoke."  
>"As do I." He inhales deeply, then shakes his thick mane in disgust. "Vile thing, it is. I only wish that we can be rid of it sooner than later. That is why it would be best to get this—whatever 'this' may be—over with."<p>

There is a momentary silence before I find the courage to speak again. "Do you think they are ready, Carca? Are my warriors ready for such a fight?"

"We are not facing the entirety of the Lypta's forces." He growls. "Not yet. The Riders are trained enough to handle whatever it is that you task them with. They will follow you without question, even should it result in their own demiseas. That is all you need care about."

"And what happens if we do defeat the drakes? Will they not simply regenerate into newer, healthier, more terrifying forms?"

"That is something we do not need to worry about until the battles that are to come. What lies ahead of us now is but a small scuffle compared to what we will be facing in the near future. Perhaps it will serve as good preparation."

"Legolas's father has been captured. Mirkwood has nigh been reduced to soot. And you would dare to call this confrontation a _scuffle?" _I am forced to take a moment to seethe in silence before continuing. "The mission at hand is to free him and fend off the Lypta by whatever means is—"

"Silence!"

My mouth snaps shut at Carca's sharp command. His ears are perked, swiveling about his head as he scours the land below him.

"Something is wrong," he says, slowing to a hover.

"What is?"

"Everything." He whips his muzzle around, and that is when I am able to notice the petrified look in his eye. There is something that he is not telling me.

"Carca!" I shout. "I need to know! Is it the Lypta? Are they coming?"

"Something else." His voice is but a groan amongst the screams of the wind. "There is no fire or Lypta. There never was." The dark wolf veers sharply to the right, then to the left. I am forced to grip onto his fur in order to remain stable.

"There is smoke in the air, Carca. I can smell it. Antiel would not—"

"Do not call that snake your sister!" he bellows. "She has led us directly into a trap!" In an instant, the Breyta tucks in his wings and plummets down towards earth. The cold wind bites into my face, freezing the tears that threaten to peel out from my eyes. _What have I done?_

Then, above the howling of the wind, there comes an unearthly noise. A scream, wailing down from the heavens in a chorus of terror and pain. My hands fly up to cover my ears, leaving me holding on with only my legs. Carca lets out a brutal roar of agony as his wings stiffen. Every muscle in his body seems to seize up all at once, and for a few heart stopping seconds we are plunging into a freefall. Braving the agonizing noise, I peel my hands from my head and place them onto Carca's. A deep and powerful energy begins to flow outwards from my fingers and into his subconscious, allowing me to transfer all of his pain into my own body.

Almost immediately, I feel myself being ripped backwards in the saddle. The screaming seems to have been amplified ten times as much. Carca gives a shudder as he begins to regain his bearings, and I am just able to yelp out one word before my throat clenches in on me.

"_Nazgul!"_

As if on cue, a looming shadow casts down from overheard, and we both look up to see the terrible silhouette of a Fell Beast soaring up above us. Upon its back sits a cloaked Ringwraith, hissing and growling with terrible menace. Its winged steed lets out an ear-splitting bellow before swooping down and slamming its legs into Carca's broad chest. The Breyta screams as he is thrown wildly off course, tumbling endlessly through open air. I can do nothing but cling on for dear life, knowing that if I were to transfer the numbing agony back into Carca, he would be unable to put up a fight.

And so, with that in mind, I summon up all my strength and slam my palm down once again on the dark wolf's head.

"Runya e orto!_"_

A blinding light explodes out from my wide-spread hand, and Carca rights himself just in time to bear the full brunt of an attack from not one, but two Fell Beasts.

But this time, he is ready.

The Breyta extends his forelegs just as one of the creatures slams into his front. Another then crashes into him from the side, slamming its boney skull directly into his hip. Carca gives a grunt of pain as he latches his claws onto the first beast's scaled chest. He then clings there as the monster whips wildly back and forth, trying everything it can to throw him off. My stomach clenches as I flatten out onto the saddle, preparing for what is to come.

Because just when it looks like the Fell Beast might dislodge him, Carca opens his jaws, and a plume of blue fire slams directly into the creature's head. Both it and the Nazgul wail in pain as the flames begin to consume them, eating away at both hide and cloth. The Fell Beast wrenches itself from Carca's deadly grasp and begins to dive back down towards the earth, defeated. The Breyta staunches his output of fire, panting heavily with strain.

But our work is not yet over.

The second creature hovers a good distance overhead, its fanged jaws agape in a snarl. Beady black eyes bore down into my own, but I meet them with a gaze packing more steel than that of an iron mace. Carca roars out a challenge, and the Fell Beast folds its wings before plunging into a steep dive, making a bee-line directly for us. The Breyta follows suit, and thus the chase begins.

The Nazgul's screams echo in my ears as we dive. By now its terrible cries have grown hollow, and I feel a small stream of blood begin to dribble down my earlobes. The presence of the blood does little more than signify the true destruction of the Ringwraith's otherworldly cries. I cringe and press my forehead into Carca's neck, willing him to do whatever it takes to end the fight.

And that is exactly what he is does.

The grasslands stretch out before us as we plunge further and further through the clouds. The Fell Beast has begun to catch up to us, its talons nicking at the dark wolf's wings. But, unlike the thin membranes of flying serpents, Carca's wings are covered in thick feathers. They will not be so easily bested.

Seconds speed by, and just when it seems like Carca is about to smash into the ground below, he pulls up at the last second. His aerodynamic build gives him the speed and maneuvering capabilities it takes to pull off such a feet.

The Fell Beast, however, is not so lucky.

With one last screech of defiance both beast and rider slam head-first into the hard earth. There is a sickening crunch that signifies the end of the creature's life, then the piteous shrieks of the Nazgul as it is left without a steed. But I don't dare look back. This fight is over. There were only the two Ringwraiths. Where the others might be, I know not. The only thing I know for certain is that there is no more to be done.

No more, that is, except for one thing.

Carca's keen eyes zero in on the fleeing form of Antiel's stallion. His enormous wings propel us forward with such great thrust that we have reached them before the she-elf even has time to look up.

With a snarl of rage Carca snatches her from the saddle, his fore-claws digging into the thick material of her riding dress. Antiel gives a yelp of surprise before being tossed roughly into the grass. Dazed and confused, she hardly puts up a fight as Carca and I touch down beside her sprawled form.

"I'll take care of this," I say, sliding down from the saddle. Having reabsorbed the energy I need, I am now ready to fight my own battles.

"I—I can explain," Antiel stammers, backpedaling on her hands and feet.

"Oh, can you?" I snap. "Well then, let's hear it. And let me guess, leading us into a Nazgul trap was completely unintentional."

The she-elf swallows hard before shaking her head. "No, it wasn't."

My blood boils with anger, and I step up to her before unsheathing Aduial. The blade slides out of the scabbard with a low hiss and gleams menacingly as I extend it out in front of me. Antiel pales.

"You," I say. "Are a liar and a traitor. You betrayed me. Your own blood. Your own kind." With a sneer of disgust a place the tip of my sword underneath her chin, tilting her head up to look at me. "What did he promise you, _sister? _A ransom, a price for my head? Or perhaps it was something more." I watch as the thin skin along Antiel's throat proves little competition against the freshly sharpened sides of Aduial. A thin trail of blood creeps out from below the blades tip and begins to snake its way down her collarbone. "You will tell me. Now."

"There was—no ransom," she squeaks. "I was set up—just as much—as you were."

"Really? I find that very hard to believe."

"Please, Keira, you have to trust me on this! I had no idea this was to happen!"  
>"If that is so, than what do you have to say about the dragons burning down Mirkwood? Are they coming to kill me, as well?"<p>

"There were—no dragons." Blood has begun to pool along the thin chain of a necklace strung about her neck. "I lied about that. But he—promised that you wouldn't—get hurt."  
>"Who is he?" I demand. When she does not respond immediately, I press down with Aduial. More blood. Antiel whimpers pitifully. I hear Carca snort his approval.<p>

"He—I don't know." The she-elf has begun to cry now. Fat tears roll down her porcelain face before plopping down onto my sword's edge. "All I know is that I've been having—dreams. There is a great dragon, wreathed in fire, coiled about Sauron's tower. He told me to—find you—and bring you to Mirkwood."

"Ah, so Karr used you as his accomplice, did he?" With a harsh jerk I pull Aduial free from the elleth's neck. She gasps and bends forward slightly, clutching at her throat. "Well isn't that just lovely. He's going to turn my own family against me now, is he?"

"He promised not to hurt you!" Antiel says. "He said that he just wanted to talk. I—he said he would send someone to kill me if I didn't—come get you."

"So you would go to Lothlorien against the will of your King, fetch your half-sister who also happens to be the leader of the Valar's Chosen army _and_ part of a quest to save Middle Earth, and take her back to your home so she can have a nice little chat with a blasted _dragon?"_

"I know I was foolish, make no mistake. But please, don't…" Her voice cracks. "Please don't kill me."

"Why shouldn't I? You were perfectly fine with setting me up for a date with death."

Antiel sobs once. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Looking at her now, lying in a jumbled heap upon the ground, sparks the tiniest hint of compassion within me. She is a fool, yes, but not a murderer. That I am sure of.

"I will have mercy on you just this once, Antiel." I bend down in order to look her in the eye. "But heed my words now. If I ever see your face again, I will not be so forgiving." Shooting the she-elf one last seething glare, I step back from her. "Go now. Run back to your forest. And if you get any more visions from Karr, tell him this." Mounting Carca, I grip one hand on the saddle and the other on Aduial's hilt. "Tell him that I will not avail to him. That I will do whatever it takes to assure that his blood paints the fields of Mordor crimson." A vision of Legolas, dying on the battlefield, flashes before my eyes. I force it out of my mind and instead imagine my sword skewering into Karr's neck. Slicing through his heart. Separating his head from his shoulders.

Looking up into the darkening sky, I smile a smile so cold and sinister that Antiel inches back several more paces.

"Tell him the Were-rider is coming."

* * *

><p><strong>So I FINALLY managed to update... ugh, life has just been so busy! Between school and volleyball my life has taken a very hectic turn. But I promise, I will not abandon this story. The updates might be coming a little slower, but I hope to be back in my regular groove sometime during November. <strong>

**Thank you all for sticking with me! Ily!**

**-PC **


	24. Enchanted

**Back again with Chapter 24!**

* * *

><p>By the time Carca and I make it back to the outskirts of Lothlorien, I have a headache so agonizing that I can hardly move. It burns outwards from my temples, a side effect of the immense amount of magic I flooded into Carca. The bitter cold isn't helping much, either. I almost wish that my companion was still able to breath out fire, if only to give me just a bit of warmth. But he cannot. The spell I cast on him would only have lasted five minutes at best, but it was just enough to give us an edge during the fight with the Ringwraiths. However, transferring energy is a dangerous thing. If I were to have threaded just a fraction more into his system, my body would not have been able to cope with the stress. I would have been consumed into nothingness from the inside out.<p>

But seeing as how my skull feels like it is about to split in half, that alternative might have been better.

"Carca, I can't do this anymore," I say numbly, tucking my head into one arm. "We have to stop."

"But we are only a few hours away from—" The Breyta trails off upon earning a scathing glance. With a grunt of protest he folds in his wings and mumbles, "As you wish."

Several minutes later we have touched down in a wide forest clearing barely a mile within Lorien's borders. Carca's paws crunch softly on the frostbitten ground, and I stem a groan as I slide down from the saddle. My legs wobble beneath me as I grip hard onto the Breyta's muscled shoulder, reluctant to let it go. I am not confident that I have enough energy even to walk. Ever observant, Carca notes my predicament and proceeds to guide me over to a bare patch of earth. Only afterwards do I allow myself to collapse.

Almost as soon as my head hits the ground, I succumb to exhaustion. The only thing I can recall before darkness takes me is Carca's familiar warmth as he extends a wing overtop me, shielding my weak form from winter's bitter chill.

"Sleep well," he says, and then all is silent.

* * *

><p>"Keira."<p>

The voice is smooth and clear.

"Keira, are you hurt?"

Louder now. More worried. Something soft and warm presses against my cheek. I wince away from the sudden touch. Slowly, my eyes blink open to take in the face of Legolas hovering over mine. Blood plasters several strands of hair to his forehead, and multiple cuts line across his brow.

"Legolas," I mumble, blinking once. "What—where are we? What happened to you?"

The elf lets out an audible sigh of relief. "We are safe. At last."

I frown. "What do you mean 'at last'?"

"The Orcs were relentless. I lost sight of you and feared the worst. But now I see that you remain uninjured." His hand slides up to my forehead. "Do you feel ill at all?"

"No, why?"

"Because—"

He never finishes his sentence. For somewhere far behind me, there comes the deep, familiar twang of a bowstring. It is a hollow sound that strikes fear into the hearts of even the bravest of warriors. After a moment, I hear a clear whistle, and then a brutal thud as an ebony arrow contacts with Legolas's abdomen. He gives a gasp, looking down in horror at the object embedded in his torso. Blood begins to pool in a crimson arc around the wound. With a sharp cry I lean up just in time to embrace him before he collapses onto me. His breaths are hard and ragged in my ear, reveling the true horror of the situation. Glancing back over my shoulder, I am met with the terrible sight of a single Orc, skewered through with a spear, clutching onto its warbow. The beast cackles once at me, its black lips curled into a sneer, before falling face first onto the ground. Black liquid splatters out from its jaws.

"Oh Valar," I whisper. "Oh blessed Valar, do not do this." I lean Legolas forward and cradle his head against my shoulder. His blue eyes stare hollowly into my own, filled with pain and shock. A sob catches in my throat as I press my forehead against his. "Legolas, stay with me. Please…" A tear drips down onto his cheek. "Stay."

"Keira," he chokes. "Go. While there is still… time."

The silent air is filled with the sound of my cries as I begin to rock him back and forth. "Don't leave me. We need you. The company—"

"There is no more company." Legolas reaches up and places a shaking hand on my neck. "They have all passed, Keira. They have all gone."

My heart drops. "No. No, Legolas, they're alive. I was just with them, and… and…" I fail to swallow the growing lump in my throat. "Just hold on. I'll find help."

A terrible scream cuts through the air. More Orcs, no doubt attracted to their comrade's commotion. Startled I move to stand but am halted by a strong hand gripping onto my wrist.

"Do not underestimate yourself," Legolas says. His fingers are freezing, like icy bonds woven about my forearm. I look down at him, tears still blurred in my vision.

"I do not understand…"

"Remember… remember…" Legolas had begun to fight for words. Almost all traces of color have drained from his face, leaving him as pale as the winter sky above. His eyes have begun to grow black at the edges, one of the many effects of the arrow's poison. A wave of nausea sweeps over me as I try desperately to tug away from his grip.

"Let me help you!" I cry. But the elf does not budge. I am forced to watch as a powerful wave of spasms shudders through his body, jolting my arm and forcing me to my knees. Sweat breaks out in a heavy line across his forehead. I sob once as blood spills out of the corners of his mouth.

Legolas manages to lean upwards until his lips are brushing against my ear.

"Remember… the code."

Suddenly, an intense light explodes out from his abdomen. The weight of his body vanishes from my lap, and the light materializes several feet in front of me. It glowers down at me in the form of a great white orb, hissing and sparking before suddenly swirling into a different shape. My mouth falls open as I am met with the beautiful yet terrifying image of Celeb. Her body flurries into existence, wreathed briefly by a gust of snow, before coming to stand before me. Two blue eyes, as bright and ageless as diamonds, gaze into mine with enough intensity to freeze even the strongest of hearts.

"Celeb," I whisper, stumbling to my feet. The white wolf towers a good few inches over me. She has grown to well over the size of a horse, with wings so large and widespread that they all but blot out the sun itself. Her fur sifts gently in the wind as she leans down to look at me.

"My dear Keira," she says. Her voice is so smooth that it sends shivers down my spine. "You have a mighty task set before you. Mighty even for one of such strength as yours." Celeb's gaze seems to harden into crystal. "I know what you saw in the Elf Queen's mirror. It foretold many terrible things, such as the one you have just witnessed."

"What am I to do about them?" I gaze up at her pleadingly. "Legolas and Carca. Merry and Pippin. Gimli and Aragorn. I have seen them die before my very eyes over and over again. What does it mean?"

The Breyta blinks solemnly. "It means that the future is to be a very dark place for those with

your courage and bravery. Light will have to struggle to penetrate through the haze of death and evil that is to come." Celeb dips her muzzle in order to touch her nose to mine. "But you are strong. I trained you in everything I know. You are well equipped to face the wicked forces of Sauron… and I have a feeling that you will not be alone." She shoots me a smile before stepping to the side, revealing a second glowing form.

But this time, it is not a Breyta that I am looking at.

Standing before me, cloaked in robes of the purest white, is none other than Mithrandir. He holds clutched in his hand a staff made of a rich ivory wood. His eyes glimmer with mischief upon noting my baffled expression.

"Mithrandir?" I gape. "You're alive?"

"In your mind, I always shall be," he says. "But you mustn't tell the others of this. It is not yet time." He strides forward to stand beside Celeb. The Breyta cranes her neck over to look at him, wise eyes filled with knowing.

"You fell. Through fire and shadow." Fresh tears well in my eyes as I look down to where Legolas's body had lain only moments earlier. His blood still paints the ground in crimson flowers. Sighing, I kneel down before them. "You fell."

"Yes indeed, I did fall. But things are not always as they seem." He smiles sadly. "I am not the same wizard as I was before."

Breathing in deeply, I force myself to brave his ancient gaze. "Then who are you now?"

"You will see when the time is right." Gandalf leans upon his staff. "Your duty as Were-rider commands you to fight the evil in the world. Only when death and blood have further plagued Middle Earth will I come again. I am not yet needed, you see."

"Yes, you are," I say strongly. "The company needs you. I need you. We understand each other, you and I. Our friendship is what has brought me this far."

"Is that all? Is there not another who also held your best interests at heart?" Mithrandir's gaze falls to the blood puddled before me. I swallow hard.

"I have seen him die more times than I can count. It is always him. Not Carca, not Frodo." I close my eyes in order to remain composed. "If you know that I care for him, why are you making me go through this? Can I not sleep in peace for once in my life? Can I not dream of good and pure things instead?"

"Pleasant dreams are for pleasant people." The wizard looks at me seriously. "And neither of us are pleasant people. It is our curse to have nightmares, as they are what keep reality so close at hand. Others might hope to find some escape during sleep, to draw away from the horror that is the real world. And they will." Sighing, Gandalf reaches down to place a hand on my shoulder. "But alas, dear one, you shall never find that peace."

"You are not the first person to tell me this."

"But he will be the last." It is Celeb speaking now. She steps forward and draws a single claw along the ground, carving a jagged line in the ice. Then, much to my disgust, a crimson liquid begins to seep out from the earth, filling the trench to the brim. "This line represents your life," she says, "And the red water your blood. It is what keeps you alive, the thing that gives you your strength. But it is not indestructible." Celeb carves another line, intersecting it with the one already drawn. This one, however, fills with tar. It soon mixes with the blood, turning it a putrefied ash color. "Your fate is sealed, Keira. You have known it all along. But it may not be in the way you think it is." The wolf's blue eyes fill with despair. "Do not let your end be as it is foretold. Fight. That is all I can ask of you. There will be no more visions. No more dreams. For the time being, your mind will no longer be plagued with the terror and pain of losing those you love."

"Did Gandalf not just say that—"

"The real nightmare is at hand now," Celeb says, eyes aflame. And when the time comes for it to take rise, you must defeat it."

"I will." Forcing my trembling legs to bear my weight, I rise shakily onto my feet in order to place a hand on her muzzle. "I swear to you, Celeb. Your death was not in vain."

"Death? No, it was not death that took me. It was the song of the sea calling me home Valinor." She sighs deeply, and I note that her fur has once again taken on an unearthly glow. Celeb is leaving me, and Gandalf, too.

"Wait," I beg. "Please, you must have more to tell me!"

"Goodbye, dear one," says Mithrandir. "At the turn of the tide, we shall meet again."

And then, just as quickly as they appeared, both Breyta and Istari vanish in a whirlwind of snow and light and the drying blood of Legolas.

* * *

><p>"<em>Karr!<em>"

The bloodcurdling cry scrapes out from my throat like claws across stone. I sit bolt upright, eyes wide open, Aduial unsheathed and gleaming in my hand. Dried tears cake my cheeks, frozen over by the winter wind. The image of Legolas, dying in my arms, is still fresh in my mind as I wobble to my feet, trying desperately to gain my bearings. Dawn has yet to break over the horizon, leaving the coldness of night still dank on the air. Air that is, for a change, completely free of smoke. Or should I say, the scent of Nazgul.

There is no sound other than the tread of my feet as I cross over to the opposite side of the clearing. It seems that I am the only being awake in this desolate forest, thus leaving me alone to cope with my troublesome vision.

My blurry gaze flickers down to my feet, examining the fresh layer of snow lining the ground. It is new and unblemished, save for one patch beside my right heel. A deep X has been gouged into the earth, filled with a pasty black substance. Thick tendrils of mist waver up from the abrasion. I inhale sharply.

"So it is true," I say. "Celeb and Mithrandir were here."

And if they were here, what does that mean about Legolas?  
>A cold ball of dread settles in the pit of my stomach. Had my vision of the Prince been accurate? Has he really been killed? And what of his ominous words about the company?<p>

_Are they all dead?_

Overwhelmed, my knees buckle beneath me, and I collapse into a jumbled heap. I cannot allow myself to think like this. It will be the death of me, if Karr and his minions do not claim me first.

"What are you doing?"

The rumbling voice jolts me right out of my stupor. I spring up and lash out in its general direction, terrified of being caught in such a state of compromise. Aduial's sharp tip narrowly misses clipping off the nose of a familiar face.

Carca stands several feet away from me. His charcoal hide has blended in with the forest, giving him a shadowed appearance.

"I'm sorry!" I exclaim, releasing my grip on the sword. Aduial falls from my hand before clattering noisily to the ground. Carca recoils briskly, his fur ridge heightened with unease.

"Are you well?" he inquires. "Are nightmares troubling you again?"

"I…guess you could say that." I am not entirely sure why I keep the real truth from him. Perhaps it is because I am afraid of what he might think. What he might believe. He might just blow the whole thing off as a hallucination brought on by exhaustion. After all, it would not be unlike him to doubt such a far-fetched story.

Carca squints at me, then sighs upon noticing the tearstains glimmering on my frosted cheeks. "We should get back to the company. It's of no use to us staying here any longer. I presume you rested well, dreams aside?"

Nodding once, I reach down to pick up Aduial. Its hilt feels as cold as ice.

"Let us be gone, then."

"Oi! look, young hobbits! She's returned!"

Gimli tromps out from behind a large tree not a moment after Carca and I have touched down in Caras Galedhon. His round face brightens in delight upon seeing us, and he claps his hands together. "I knew you'd be back soon! What did I tell you, laddies?" I can't help but grin upon seeing the two curly heads pop up from behind him, followed closely by the tall form of Strider. The man smiles warmly at me, extending his arm outwards in a gesture of welcome. "My lady," he mutters.

"Hello," I say, spreading my arms wide in order to accept Gimli's oncoming embrace. I give a small squeal of surprise as his strong arms clamp around my waist, lifting me a good foot or so into the air before bringing me back down to earth. The dwarf laughs heartily, and I blush before scuffling the hobbits' hair. "I presume you've all been doing well while I've been gone?"

"Quite!" Pippin crows. Merry jabs him in the ribs, and the younger cousin quickly adds in, "My lady."

"Legolas told us you'd gone to fight," Merry says. His hazel eyes are wide with intrigue as he looks up at me. "Did you really defeat those awful creatures?"

"There were no such things, my dear little hobbit." I feel my chest swell with anger. "My half-sister, if I dare even call her that, led me straight into a Nazgul trap."

Merry's eyes widen. "Nazgul? You mean the Black Riders have come back?"

"Carca and I managed to fight them off, but it was not an easy task. There may have only been two of them, but they were born atop Fell Beasts."

Gimli gives a muffled gasp. "Oh! Those are formidable foes!"

Carca snorts indignantly, and I smirk upon noting the swirls of smoke steaming from his nostrils. The dwarf bugs his eyes while Merry and Pippin look on in amazement.

Gimli leans in close to them. "Did he just…?"

"Aye," Carca says stiffly, his ears folded. "Is there a problem, master dwarf?"

"Well not at all! I'm simply baffled by the idea of a creature such as yourself breathing…er, breathing…" The dwarf trails off to put an end to his rambling.

Carca wrinkles his nose before looking to me. "If you no longer have need of me, I shall take my leave to go hunt."

"You are free to do so, my friend." Casting one last look at Gimli, Carca dips his head before launching up into the sky.

No sooner has my companion taken his leave then the sound of rushed footsteps catches my attention. Frowning, I turn around just in time to see Legolas appear out from a nearby forest pathway. My heart stutters once, its pulse hard and pounding in my throat. He is here. Legolas is here, alive and unhurt. The nightmare has not become a reality, after all.

Upon noticing my sudden lack of conversation, Gimli clears his throat. "I'll be leaving you now, lass. I can see you two have some… catching up to do."

"Oi, we're coming with you!" cries Pippin, shuffling after the dwarf. Merry looks up at me, his expression mischievous, before following after them. I give my eyes a light roll before looking to the Prince.

"Keira," Legolas breathes, coming to stand before me. "Is everything well? You have hardly been gone at all!"

"I was… misinformed." I close my eyes momentarily. "Faelwen deceived me into believing that fire drakes had invaded Mirkwood, when really she was leading me into a trap."

The elf pales. "A trap? Of what sort?"

"There were Ringwraiths. Two of them, riding upon Fell Beasts. They attacked us from the air before we were able to reach Mirkwood."

Legolas looks away from me, and I am surprised to see a fiery anger tucked away within his gaze. "Such an act is worthy of banishment. My father will not be pleased with her actions of late."

"She claimed to have been forced into it," I say.

"Your own blood should not commit such a betrayal, forced or not."

I sigh. "I don't understand, Legolas. It has been twenty years since I last saw her, yet now she decides to show up and lead me straight to the Nazgul. Something about this ordeal does not seem…" My chest gives a heavy ache, and I wince before continuing. "…right."

The Prince looks down at me, his brow knit in concern. "Are you well, Keira?"

I move to reply, but am stopped short by the tightening in my throat. A single tear streaks free from my eyelashes, snaking its way down my cheek and onto my lips. "No. No, I am not well. And I don't believe I shall be for a very long time."  
>Blue eyes, so bright and bold, gaze down at me sadly. I am suddenly brought back to the time when they were unfamiliar to me. When Legolas was no more than a stranger from a different race who found me lying in the woods. But times have changed. I have transformed from a small mortal girl into one of the Valar's most esteemed beings, and Legolas… well, Legolas has changed, as well. The once reclusive and distant Elf has matured into a warrior unlike anything I have ever seen. He is powerful and quick, striking at his foes with far more accuracy than can be possessed by any living creature, immortal or not.<p>

And it is to Legolas Thranduilion, the Prince of Mirkwood, whom I owe my life.

"Sam has been asking after you," the Elf says, startling me out of my thoughts. Pushing away the memories, I look up at him with a frown.

"Whatever for?" I inquire.

"Curiousity, I would presume. He is quite fond of you."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Fond? Of me? Why, I am flattered."

"Come now, do lighten up. I'm sure he would be pleased to speak with you at some point during the day. And you never know, perhaps his talk of elves and gardening might put your mind at ease."

"My word, Legolas. I'm not that shallow!"

"I was not stating that you were!" The Prince throws his hands up in surrender. "I am just trying to help you, Keira. That is all I've ever wanted."

_Is that all? _The words circle around in my mind, but I bite my tongue to prevent myself from speaking them. Who knows how he might take it.

"You are kind to think of me," I tell him. "But at the moment, I would like nothing more than to curl up in a dark corner and rot."

"Might I suggest a visit with the company as a more desirable option?"

His quirky comment earns him a smile. "If you insist."

* * *

><p>Perhaps the term 'visit' is an understatement.<p>

I talk for what seems for hours on end. Frodo, Sam, Boromir and even Aragorn were all interested in what I had to say of my travels. A good portion of my time was spend conversing with Samwise. His beautiful descriptions of the Shire and its various realms nigh lulled me to sleep. By mid-afternoon I had been moved to take my leave of them in order to catch up on some much needed rest.

I slumber peacefully and undisturbed until sundown, when the distant buzz of insects is the only sound in the otherwise silent forest. The soft Lothlorien bed feels like pure bliss when alas I begin to come to. I can feel the last of the sun's precious rays snaking in through the archway entrance. It warms my face and turns the back of my eyelids a mellow shade of orange. Sighing deeply, I give a yawn before stretching out my arms and legs.

_No dreams, _I think. _Maybe Celeb was right, after all._

"My lady."

I jump slightly upon hearing the voice. Opening my eyes, I am relieved to see that it is only an Elven guard, standing patiently at the doorway.

"My name is Keira," I manage to croak out. With a grunt of effort I swing my legs over the side of the bed and comb my fingers through my hair. "Is there something you want?"

"Not at all, my la—Keira." The Elf clears his throat awkwardly before continuing. "There is a banquet being held for your company. My lord and lady insist that you attend."

I pluck irritably at my eyelashes. "Do they now? Well… best not keep them waiting." The Elf nods curtly but remains stationed at the archway, twiddling his thumbs. His brown eyes flit briefly to my face. Sighing, I get to my feet and smile over at him. "You don't have to wait for me…" I pause, fishing for a name.

"Darion," he fills in.

"Darion," I echo. "What I mean to say is that you are welcome to head to the banquet now instead of waiting for me."

"But my Lord Celeborn insisted that I—"

"You can tell Lord Celeborn that I demanded you go without me."

Darion pales slightly but does not protest. "If that is what you wish…"

I wave him along. The brown-haired Elf swallows hard, bowing once before disappearing down the steps.

"A banquet," I mutter to myself, trudging over to the dresser. "They must be preparing for us to take our leave." My fingers pull open one of its several sets of drawers. Dresses lie neatly folded within its wooden confines, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the shimmering pearlescent fabric of a gown near the top. Its sleeves are long and elegant, stretching down nearly to my thighs as I hold it out before me.

"Well, best get this over with."

* * *

><p>There is so mistaking the gentle hush that washes over the clearing upon my arrival.<p>

Two rows of Elves are lined along the sides of a great table, with the company members making up a good portion of the left side. The glowing forms of Galadriel and Celeborn reside at the very end of the table. Their hard gazes thrust into me like icy blades as I step in through the archway.

"Keira of the Chosen," says Galadriel dryly, spreading her arms out before her. "Welcome. I presume you succeeded in your endeavors to fend off Mirkwood's foes?"

"There were no such thing," I reply, coming to stand at the far end of the table. "I was led into a trap, but Carca and I were able to escape."

"Of what trap do you speak of?" I recognize the voice to belong to Haldir. The marchwarden stands at attention behind Lady Galadriel. His pale eyes are filled with suspicion.

"Antiel lead me to the Nazgul," I tell him. "We were able to defeat them, but were both injured in the process."

"And how are things now?" inquires Celeborn. "Will that she-elf not bring the Ringwraiths back here?"

I shake my head. "We felled both of their steeds. They will not be coming back, my lord. That I can assure you of."

Galadriel smiles, but the gesture seems to have lost some of its sincerity. "Enough talk of battles and fighting. Please, sit and eat."

Trying desperately to conceal my shaking hands, I shoot her a shy smile before making my way towards the Fellowship. Aragorn dips his head to me as I walk past, whereas the hobbits simply stare. I do not blame them. The dress I am wearing seems to shine as bright as the moon. I might as well be cloaked in starlight.

Gimli mummers a gentle, "My lady," under his breath as I halt at an empty seat beside him. Looking to the side, I am pleasantly surprised to see Legolas occupying the chair beside it. The light reflected by my Elven gown scatters silver flecks throughout his pupils.

"You look well," he says.

"Same to you," I remark, eyeing his combed hair. Taking a seat, I proceed to stare down at the empty table. Aside from a cup of wine and a napkin, there is nothing on it. "If I dare ask, where might the food be?"

"It shan't be long now. The Elves here nigh prepare anything more than salads and wine. They don't believe in eating meat."

A foggy memory resurfaces for a brief moment. An image of Legolas, his arms folded, wrinkling his nose at the dead rabbit I hold clutched in my hand.

"And if I recall correctly, neither do you."

The Prince seems to catch onto my reference and quirks a smile. "That is true."

"I worked hard to shoot that rabbit."

"And I am sure that it tasted quite nice, but you seem to be forgetting that all Elves have a strong bond with the forests and their creatures. To consume such defenseless beings seems barbaric."

I snake my hand beneath the table and grip his thigh in warning. "Are you calling me barbaric, Legolas?"

The elf raises an eyebrow. "Am I?"

"Come!" Lord Celeborn's loud voice interrupts our conversation, and I crane my neck to see the Elf raise his wine goblet. "Let us make a toast to Mithrandir. May his legacy continue on for many ages to come."

All at once, elves and guests alike lift up their cups. Legolas and I follow suit.

"And let his courage by known by us all," I add. The Elf Lord nods his approval, and the air is suddenly filled with the hollow clangs of wine glasses rapping together. Even one of Gimli's boisterous comments is drowned out by the racket

_Valar forbid, do not let Carca wake to find me gone, _I think, taking a sip of my drink. The bitter tang of the wine scalds my tongue before burning its bitter way down my throat. Unaccustomed to the sensation, I make a small gagging sound. Legolas chuckles before tasting a swig from his own goblet. As much as he likes to play innocent, the Elf Prince seems to rather enjoy strong drink. And being Mirkwood is renowned for its good taste in wine, I'm not surprised. Thranduil probably drinks it by the gallon.

Not that I care.

"Your salad, my lady."

An arm stretches down over my shoulder and sets a plate filled with sliced greens down before me. I look over to see a young looking elleth standing behind me. Her eyes are an impossible combination of blue and amber, blending well with her long blond curls. A narrow, angular face makes her look younger than I am certain she is.

"Thank you," I say.

"Of course." The she-elf curtseys briefly before bustling off to gather more plates. Soon, everyone has been given a salad dish of their own, and the Elves waste no time in consuming their food. It would seem impossible to me that a race that is taught such proper manners is able to inhale chunks of lettuce at such a rate. I have barely made it halfway before everyone has finished. A copper-haired elf servant takes away Legolas's spotless platter, then proceeds to glance down at me.

"Are you finished eating, my lady?"

I barely manage to swallow another mouthful without cringing. "Yes," I reply, handing him the dish. "The food was… lovely."

The elf beams, completely unaware of the lie in my voice. "That is very kind of you to say."

Guilt bubbles up within me as the servant traipses off for the kitchen. Not a moment later, I feel a hard shoulder brush against my own. "You hated it, didn't you?"

"They don't have to know that."

"You lie too easily, Keira."

Glancing over at him, I am surprised to find that his face is only inches away from mine. If I moved but a little, our noses would be touching.

"What makes you think that?" I whisper, meeting his gaze.

Legolas shoots me a look of annoyance before leaning back. "I haven't the slightest clue."

"Valar forbid, now _you're _lying!"

"Oi, you two!" Gimli's voice rattles in my ear like a bass drum. His thick brow is furrowed when I look over at him. "I've had enough of all this whispering of yours! Speak loud enough for us all to hear!"

I blink once before giving a light laugh. "Since when have you become interested in other people's conversations, master dwarf?"

Gimli narrows his eyes at me before continuing, albeit quieter this time. "That Princeling's a bit too taken by you for my taste."

My eyebrows shoot up, and I lean in closer. "Taken?"

"Aye. I've seen how he acts. The rat can't keep his eyes off you."

"Oh hush, Gimli. You know perfectly well that we are no more than friends. Have you not heard me speak of my bonds as Were-rider?" The dwarf grumbles something inaudible, and I smirk victoriously. "That's what I thought."

Gimli opens his mouth to retort but is interrupted when an elf sets a massive platter of bread rolls down in the center of the table. His eyes light up, all hope of conversation forgotten. I snicker quietly and turn back to Legolas. Much to my surprise, I find that he is already looking at me. An embarrassed flush comes over my cheeks as I realize that he might have been listening in on Gimli and I's conversation.

"What?" I manage to squeak out. The highness of my voice surprises me, and I pull a face. Legolas simply stares.

"May I ask you something?"

His rather abrupt question catches me off guard. Frowning, I prop an elbow on the table in order to fully face him. "Anything."

"Do you take pleasure in dancing?"

Its takes a moment for his question to sink in. "I do not know," I say honestly. "I have never tried it."

Legolas blinks "Not even once?"

"Why are you asking me this?" I demand, eyes flashing.

"Am I not allowed to be curious?"

"There is a difference in being curious and digging for information. I presume you are doing the later."

"I was merely wanting to know if you would care for a dance, Keira."

My lips part in a look of confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

As if on cue, a gentle strumming sound begins to fill the air. I whip around to see a group of elves standing off to the right of the table, each wielding an instrument. One elleth has begun to pluck at an elegant silver harp, her fingers moving expertly along the strings. Flutes trill softly in the moonlight, and I am made suddenly aware of the situation I have been thrust into.

_Valar forbid, he cannot be serious!_

"Oh, Legolas… I don't know if I could…"

"Would it be such a burden to try?" he inquires. His blue eyes tug at mine, clear and piercing. I sigh shakily.

"I am superbly wretched at most things, so it is your fault if I am the cause of any injury upon your Elven toes."

My attempt at humor goes right over his head. "Do not fret over me," Legolas says, rising up from his seat to offer me a hand. "I will teach you well."

His palm is warm as it slides overtop mine. I glance nervously back at the host of Elves, only to find that a good portion of them seem to have departed. The banquet has ended just as quickly as it began. Even Gimli, with his enormous appetite, seems to have grown weary and is now teetering away along with the rest of the company. Strider turns round, as if for a farewell, but all it takes is one look at the both of us for him to second guess himself. My stomach plummets down to my feet when I the corner of his lip tug upwards. I shake my head frantically, trying desperately to dissuade him from how it appears, but he has already turned away.

_So help me, does Legolas know what the hellfire he's doing to my reputation? _

Despite my reluctance, I allow the elf to lead me out of the clearing and over to a circular platform inlaid within the forest floor. Our shoes clap together in synch as we come to stand in the middle of a compass-like emblem engraved in the stone's center. My Elven attire catches onto a stray moonbeam, flashing brightly and thus doing away with any and all hopes of secrecy. Even now I can feel several sets of eyes boring into the back of my neck. Whether they are of Elves or woodland creatures, I do not know. But the mere thought of making a fool of myself in front of anyone is enough to make my forehead bead with sweat.

"What if I am terrible at this?" I whisper, looking up at him in horror. "I will embarrass us both in front of the whole of Lothlorien."

"Hush," he says. "You would rather learn here than in the realms of Rohan or Gondor, which we are sure to come upon in our travels. The kingdoms of men would not be as kind as I to teach you." Chills rack up and down my spine as I feel his arm slide around my waist. "Now do as I do."

Swallowing hard, I cast a wary glance over my shoulder before obediently sliding my hand onto the small of his back. The muscles along his spine are as hard as rock, built from years of vigorous exercise and training. Legolas then presses his free palm against mine, guiding them up until they are at eyelevel. Our breaths, frosted into mist, cloud the air before us. My heart pounds against my ribcage. Can he hear the quickness of my breathing? Can he see the unease tucked away behind my guarded eyes? Does he notice how I tremble whenever we touch?

"Legolas, I've never danced before," I say. "Not even in Brunsfarrow. Please don't make me do this."

The Prince makes no reply. Instead, I watch as his slim fingers inch downwards to intertwine with my own. I follow suit, taking in his comforting warmth as our hands interlock. "Follow my steps," he says. Gently, Legolas begins to sway back and forth, taking slow, rhythmic paces that follow along with the music. I try my best to follow suit, somewhat clumsily at first. His pace is quick compared to my own. I look down at my feet, hoping that my watching them will help to better direct my movements. But as minute after frustrating minute passes by, I finally give up.

And when alas I look back to Legolas, his eyes are all I see.

Pale and infinite, like the sea at high tide. Glimmering flecks of amethyst speckle the outer rims of his irises, giving them a mystical look. Our gazes our drawn together to the point where I allow myself to forget. I forget the dozens of prying eyes peering at us from afar and let instinct take over.

We are one now, he and I. Our steps time together perfectly as if made for one another. His forehead dips down until it is brushes against the top of my head. Everything else is gone. It is irrelevant now. There is only Legolas. And he is all I could ever ask for.

Sensing my change of heart, the elf tests his luck by spinning me once. The resulting twirl is effortless, and soon we have returned back to our original position, if not a bit closer. It goes on like that for what seems like an age, spinning effortlessly back and forth into his embrace, until at last I slip up. I am in the midst of a twirl when one of my heels catches on the cobblestones, and instead of being spun round with my back to him, I find the front of me crashing against his chest. My palms press up against his soft tunic, and I feel my breath hitch as his hands grip hard onto my hips. I try to move, to break free from the situation, but his gaze does nothing more than draw me in. Our hearts pound as one.

"You're doing well," Legolas says. His lip twitches. "Though you might want to mind your step."

"It was an accident. Now get off me." I shove playfully against him.

Legolas observes me silently, his eyes twinkling. "Is that a challenge?"

His last statement sparks a familiar fire within me. I feel a strange warmth in my eyes, the same feeling that signifies one of their sporadic change of colors. But this time, the Prince simply smiles. "Should the fact that your eyes have turned red concern me?"

"Absolutely." I lean back and fold my arms across my chest. "Meet me here in a half hour. I think we have been long overdue for a good fight."

Legolas raises his eyebrows. "A rematch? If I recall, last time we attempted such a thing, you were taught a very important lesson."

"And now it is time for me to teach _you_ a lesson."

He flashes me a dazzling smile. "In that case, I shall accept."

* * *

><p>The odds are not in my favor. They never were, really.<p>

It is my sword versus two Elvish long blades wielded by a very talented Prince. Aduial may be sharpened to prime, but Legolas's knives are strong and lean. He will be able to advance on me with both, while I have only one weapon. Parrying a single-handed blow from an experienced fighter is hard enough. But to deflect two? It will not be an easy task. Without my magic, I have to rely solely on my keen wits and nimble feet, something I have not had to do in a very long time.

But I am always up for a challenge.

When I alas I have arrived at the platform once more, Legolas is already waiting for me. Like myself, he has put aside his Lorien garbs, favoring instead his regular travelling attire. Twin braids are plated down the sides of his temples. His blades shine a deadly ivory in his hands, matching with the color of his clenched knuckles. Our eyes meet, and it gives me a thrill to see the hungry look of battle locked away beneath his otherwise mild gaze. This is the side of Legolas that I like. The warrior in him.

"Keira," he greets lowly, twiddling his knives.

"Legolas," I say in response. For my own enjoyment, I spin Aduial in my fingers. The blade cuts through the air with a sharp whistle as I come to hold it out in front of me. "Prepare to have the odds evened."  
>"Those are strong words…" His eyes glint. "For a lady."<p>

The Prince is luring me in, trying to distract me so as to catch me off guard. He will not succeed.

"Oh really?" In one swift motion I spring forward and hook my foot around his ankle. The elf stumbles backwards, caught off balance by my sudden action, before grinning evilly.

"Let us begin."  
>The resulting clash of metal is deafening. It is his two blades against Aduial, bearing down while I push back. The sheer strength of his arms is enough to put me at a disadvantage. I shove at him once, twice, then finally a thrice before finally breaking free, only for him to advance once more. He aims a swipe at my head, but I duck down to avoid it. The tip of the blade barely nicks the top of my ear. A sick smile plays across my lips as I feel blood well up on the point of contact. This is the part I love. The rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins. The feeling of power I get from it.<p>

Almost immediately, Legolas's eyes are drawn to the sight of the wound. That momentary distraction is all it takes for me to lash out and slice a precision cut in his tunic. The elf jumps back with a yelp of surprise, but not before earning a rather messy looking 'K' scratched into his shirt.

"Oops!" I exclaim mockingly. "Have I messed up your garbs, little Prince?"

"Of all my tunics, that was my personal favorite." Legolas pulls a rather distraught looking face. For a split moment I find myself believing him, find myself feeling guiltily, drawn into that beautiful gaze. That is, before he delivers a well-placed kick to my knee. My leg buckles, and I would have sprawled ungracefully onto the ground were it not for the strong arm that grips around my waist. But it is hardly a comforting gesture. I am no stranger to the feeling of cold steel as it presses up against my torso. With his free hand the elf snatches Aduial away from me, then presses both it and his knife against my throat. I blink in shock. Legolas has bested me yet again.

But this time, I am prepared.

Like a cornered animal I lash out, elbowing him hard in the ribs and taking advantage of his loss of breath. I duck underneath his arm and drive my forearm into his wrist. Both sword and dagger clatter to the ground, and I waste no time to snatch them up. Legolas barks out a string of Sindarian profanity as he hobbles around to face me.

"What's that matter, Legolas?" I taunt. "Don't like being beaten by a girl?"

"I did not say the fight was—"

In an instant I have hooked my leg around his and yanked it backwards. Upon realizing what I've done, Legolas cuts off his statement and grabs hold of my forearm. I give a small shriek of surprise as both of us are thrown off balance, and I find myself being dragged down with him. Both my blade and his clatter down from my hands as we fall to the ground in a struggling heap. A gasp escapes my lips as I brace my arms on either side of him, forehead hovering mere inches above him. Our hot breaths intermingle in the shallow space between us. My hair cascades down to meet with his. Ebony and ivory, black threaded into the palest of blondes. I look down at him and attempt a meek smile. His gaze is soft, as silken as ocean waves.

"You tripped me," he says.

"Aye." The word is nothing more than an exhale.

Slowly, Legolas leans up in order to whisper in my ear, "Smart girl."  
>"I learn from the best."<p>

The elf heaves a gentle sigh before glancing up towards the treetops. "The night wanes. You best get some sleep to prepare you for the morrow's journey."

My eyes widen. "It feels as though we have hardly been here!"

"I know." Legolas begins to comb his fingers through my hair. An absentminded thing, meant nothing more than to be a gesture of comfort, but it sends shivers down my spine nonetheless. "But Mithrandir would not want us to linger here for too long. We must face the task at hand as soon as possible."

His words bring to memory the strange vision I had not a few hours earlier. With a shuddering breath I tuck my head in the hollow of his shoulder. "I'm scared, Legolas. I fear for the hobbits, for the men, for Gimli." I swallow hard. "For you."

"Aragorn is a good leader," the elf says. "He will lead the company well."  
>"People keep telling me that, but is not reassurance I need."<p>

"I am not so sure." His hand glides along my chin, angling it towards the sky. "Look up, Keira, and what do you see?"

Legolas's heartbeat pounds in my ears as I gaze up at the vast expanse of darkness above me. But there, twinkling out from the abyss, are millions of slivers of starlight. Beautiful streaks of purple and blue form the outline of a glowing celestial abyss. Like a storm in space. My father called it the Opening of the Stars. I smile, remembering the stories he used to tell me of it.

"I see stars," I reply. "Countless numbers of them."

"Now envision a cloud concealing them from view."

I frown and look over at him, my cheek resting against his collarbone. "Why?"

The Prince captures my gaze for a split-second before returning it to the heavens. "The cloud represents the darkness and evil in this world. It will haze over our thoughts and actions and chastise those who dare to oppose it. But a cloud is merely a cloud, and like everything natural, it will pass." He closes his eyes. "We will all pass, in time."

"But not you," I say, placing my hand on his chest. "You are Elven-kind. When all is said and done, you will remain here before sailing to the Undying Lands."

"And what of you?" he asks. "You too are immortal. Will you not sail the seas of Valinor, as well?"

"I am only immortal as long as I am the Were-rider. Once my task as been fulfilled, my title will be stripped away, and I will have no other choice than to age as does a regular mortal."

"But you are also half-elven. Were you not given the choice between eternal life and mortality?"

My thoughts immediately drift to my mother and father, and I wince. "No, I was not. My fate was sealed long ago."

There is a silence, then, as Legolas begins to process my words. "Can you not simply remain Were-rider?" he inquires eventually. "The Valar are sure to have need of you again."

"No," I say. "They won't. I am the last Were-rider, Legolas. The last there shall ever be. My legacy will be nothing more than a fable come the fourth age. People will refer to me as a myth, and the Lypta, too. We will all be forgotten."

"Perhaps by men, but the Elves shall never cease to speak of you." His hand clasps overtop mine. "I will make certain of that."

Beneath the cover of darkness, I smile. "Thank you."

Legolas gives a gentle sigh, and for a moment neither one of us speaks. My eyelids fall down, content at last.

"I wish it could always be like this," I whisper. "I wish none of this has to happen."

"As do I, mellon nin. As do I." He has taken to running his knuckles along the base of my neck. "But alas it cannot be."

My fingers grip harder onto his tunic, willing themselves to never let go. "You say we leave tomorrow?"

"The Elves will grant us boats at dawn. We will travel then down the river Anduin, leaving behind this fair golden wood." I hear him sigh. "And I dare say that we shall not be seeing it again for a very long time."

I look over at him. "If that is so, than you should get your rest. The journey ahead is long."

"And what of yourself?"

My heart sinks upon noting the distraught look in his eye. "You needn't worry for me. I will remain here as to not wake Carca. He needs more strength than I."  
>"Keira…"<p>

I silence him with a finger to the lips. "If you speak much louder, you'll wake the whole of Lothlorien. Now go rest."

With shallow grunt the elf leans up into a sitting position. "Your constant badgering will do nothing to change my answer. I will remain here."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, I'll go. But if I wake Carca, I'm blaming you."  
>Legolas rises up onto his feet before offering me a hand. "Then I shall rest at ease, knowing that my passing shall come quick and swift."<p>

"Maybe. Depending on the moo he's in." Soundlessly, I thread my fingers through his. "Thank you for this, Legolas. You have given me a happiness that runs thin in times such as these."

"And you me," he says. The Prince's eyes glimmer as he raises my hand to his lips before planting a soft kiss atop it. "Na lû e-govaned vîn, Keira."

"Ollo vae, Legolas."

Casting one last glace at me, Legolas dips his head before disappearing into the night.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello, dearest readers! Hope you all liked the new chapter! Feel free to review and tell me what you think. It makes my day whenever I see someone has commented! <strong>

**Hope you all enjoy the rest of your week!**

**-PC**


	25. Sealed

***rises up from smoke* I LIVVVE! Here's a post-Halloween update for y'all!**

* * *

><p>"You did <em>what?"<em>

"Carca, relax. He was only trying to teach me."

The Breyta paces back and forth along the balcony of my quarters, his heavy paw steps causing the platform to tremble. His golden eyes bulge with rage and disbelief. "After all I have taught you. After all you have been trained. You allow that dratted Elf Prince to _dance _with you?"

"Honestly!" I exclaim, pinching the bridge of my nose. "For the last time, we are friends! Can I not at least try to enjoy myself every now and then?"

"Of all the Were-riders to ever walk this earth, Keira, you are the worst! It is by the good grace of the Valar alone that I do not skin your hide and pin it to these cursed elven walls!" Carca lets out an angry roar, and I barely contain a snort of amusement as smoke belches out from his mouth.

"Have you been sneaking some of Merry and Pippin's pipeweed?"

The dark wolf whips around to face me, mane fluffed. "What did you say?"

Despite the rather terrifying look on his face, I fall back upon my bed with a laugh. "Carca, you oaf!"

"I am not an oaf."

"Oh, but you are!" I summon a ball of magic above me and proceed to spin it with my finger. "My dear friend, if you could only know how happy I was!"

A dark face pops overhead, dispersing the orb. "You are behaving like an adolescent girl."

I lean up and grab hold of his chin. "You seem to forget that that is what I am. These many years have done nigh to age me."

Carca's ears flatten. "You have duties, Keira. There will be no more of this 'dancing' with Legolas." The wolf spits out the last word as if it were poison upon his tongue. I roll my eyes.

"Yes, mother." Shooting him a sarcastic look, I get to my feet before making my way over to the balcony. Dawn has already broken over the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of gold. It is as if the great Illuvatar himself has taken a brush and created the spectacle with his own hands. I exhale deeply, allowing the fresh woodland scent to rid me of my worries.

I had managed to get a small amount of sleep after the Prince and I's brief sparring match. I might even have netted in a few more hours had I not been woken by the sound of Carca's claws clicking on the ground as he paced about the room. The Breyta was impatient for me to wake, as he must've been aware that I did not return until the late hours of night.

"We depart in no less than an hour," Carca says, coming to stand beside me. "The dwarf informed me of the Elves' plan to see us off."

I look over at him and quirk an eyebrow. "You talked to Gimli?"

"For a short time, yes. Our opinions are quite alike when it comes to certain things." Carca glances over at me. "I apologize for losing my temper. I should not have behaved so rashly."

"There is no need," I say, reaching out to stroke his ears. "I should have told you where I was going. I know how much you hate it when I keep things from you."

Carca closes his eyes briefly. "I only worry for your safety," he says. "It is my duty to protect you from harm, be it by my own life."

Sighing gently, I sidestep in order to wrap an arm around his neck. "I would not ask for any other guardian."

"Not even the elf?"

My lips twitch. "Not even the elf."

A cool breeze snakes its way through the treetops, sending shivers down my spine. The cold is short lived, however, as Carca extends his wing in order to pull me closer to him. My fingers comb through his thick fur, drawing in much needed warmth. I press my face into his neck and breathe in his familiar scent. This might be the last peaceful moment we have together. The journey ahead is long and treacherous. There is no telling when next we might have time to truly enjoy each other's company.

That being said, we remain there for what seems like forever, huddled against each other, before the sound of shouting brings me back to the real world.

"My lady."

"My lady, Keira."

"Are you there?"

Frowning, I peer over the balcony edge to see none other than Haldir standing at on the steps below. The elf's blonde hair shimmers ethereally in the sunlight, framing his bold features.

"Hello, Haldir," I say breezily, giving him a small wave. The marchwarden responds by bowing.

"Your company is to meet by the shores of Silverlode in a half an hour. I was sent by the Lady Galadriel to inform you of the matter."

"Then be sure to send her my thanks," I say. "I shall be there shortly."

Haldir nods once before turning on heel and disappearing into the forest. I watch him go with sad eyes before looking to Carca.

"Time's up."

* * *

><p>When alas Carca and I arrive at the Silverlode, the rest of the Fellowship is there waiting for us.<p>

A great gathering of Elves has amassed before them, each holding a bundle of what looks to be come sort of cloth. Swallowing hard, I come to stand beside Aragorn, who unlike myself, seems completely at ease.

"When do we leave?" I ask, shooting the Ranger a questioning glance.

"Soon, my lady," he replies. "The Elves are to present each of us with gifts before our departure."

"Gifts?" inquires Carca, sidling up next to me. "What kind of gifts?"

Aragorn smirks before looking down at him. "That I do not know."

Suddenly, a hush seems to fall over the gathering. Legolas, who stands several away from Aragorn, straightens substantially as a white-robbed figure begins to make its way towards us. It is the Lord Celeborn, I realize with a start. He whispers something to one of the Elves, and in nigh less than a moment they have formed a line before the company. In front of me stands Haldir, a rare smile curling at his lips. We acknowledge each other briefly before, much to my surprise, the Elf leans forward and wraps the cloth around my shoulders. His kin follow suit with the rest of the Fellowship.

"What are you doing?" I ask, watching as Haldir fastens the ends using a Lorien leaf brooch. The cloth appears to have been cut into some sort of cloak. It is dim grey in color, blending well with the silvery lights of Lothlorien. When my tenant makes no reply, I instead turn to look at the Elf Lord.

"Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people," says Celeborn, facing now towards the Fellowship. "May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes."  
>Out the corner of my eye, I see Carca recoil as an Elf attempts to wrap something around his neck. At first glance I deem it do be a simple neck wrap, but then I note the fist-sized green jewel infused into it. I kick at him with my heel.<p>

_Do not resist, _I tell him mentally.

The Breyta gives a low growl but heeds my words nonetheless. The golden metal contrasts sharply against his dark fur, and its intricate shape adds a look of dignity to the Wolf.

"We deemed that a great creature such as yourself would have no use for a cloak," the she-elf says as she fastens it about his neck. "This collar was forged to fit your needs. It will shield you from many dangers."

"How so?"

The elleth simply smiles before stepping back from him. Carca shoots me a questioning glance, which I return with a shrug.

"Were-rider."

The clear voice unmistakably belongs to Galadriel. I look around to see the she-elf emerging out from the shadows of the forest. Her pale face is framed by a silver circlet adorning her forehead.

"My lady, Galadriel," I say, attempting a curtsey. The greeting must seem ridiculous to Carca, as I hear him give a light snicker.

"Come with me," the she says simply. "There is something we must discuss."

Carca whips around to look at me. "Keira, I must insist to come with…"

"No." I cut him off before he is able to finish his statement. "I have to do this alone." Drawing in a deep breath, I turn around and begin to make my way towards the she-elf. Galadriel smiles, but that does nothing but terrify me even more. What could possibly so important that she must talk to me now?

"What is the matter?" I ask upon reaching her. She makes no reply and instead gestures for me to follow her into the forest. There is a certain air about her that puts me at an unease; something is not right, and though I know not what it is, I have a feeling that I might not want to.

Once we have ventured out of the company's range of hearing, Galadriel turns to face me. "The night of the banquet, I looked into your memories." Her blue eyes narrow in suspicion. "You saw something. A vision, one so powerful that I could not break through your walls to see it. Tell me, Keira. What was it that you saw?"  
>A cold sweat breaks out upon my brow, and I fold my arms across my chest. "My lady, it is for your own good that I do not tell you."<p>

Galadriel observes me in silence for a moment. "Is it?"

"If it was my choice, I would not keep such things from you. But this matter is not in my hands." I sigh heavily. "Please, do not think me to be deceiving you, for I am not."

"There is no deceit in your eyes," she says. "Nor has any come from your tongue. But yet I feel as though you do not tell me the full truth."

I set my jaw. "Galadriel, I do not need you to take the repercussions of my actions. Hear me out when I say that knowledge of this may do more harm than good."

Galadriel narrows her eyes. "You would deny the requests of one of the Noldor?"

"Only to protect you."

There is a hard silence following my words. The Elf Lady's expression is unreadable as she gazes down at me. Then, much to my surprise, Galadriel smiles. "You have a kind heart, Keira. But you need not worry for me. For I am also the bearer of a great burden, and because of that, there is nigh more that could trouble me any further."

"I understand that." Summoning up my courage, I look up to meet her stormy gaze. "But I am not sure that you understand me."  
>Galadriel gives a gentle sigh. "I do not believe that I ever could, my dear. It is but a fool's hope that anyone would be able to fully comprehend what goes on in your mind." The elleth takes hold of my hand. "The Valar did well to choose you as Were-rider. At first I was not sure, but now there is no doubt in my mind that you shall succeed."<p>

I smile. "Forgive me, but I have become a bit confused as to the topic of this conversation."

"I tested you," says Galadriel, whirling around and making her way back down the pathway. "To see if you would give in to tell me what it is that you guard so carefully. Most would not have been able to handle such an interrogation."

My brow furrows. "I would not regard our conversation as such a harsh term."

"That is because you are gifted," she says. Our footsteps clap a gentle rhythm against the cobblestones as I stride up next to her. "You are strong, Keira. Do not let that strength run thin."

"As long as I can still draw breath, I will not falter."

The she-elf's robes billow out around her as she looks back at me. "He will be there for you."

Her statement takes me aback. "He? Who is he?" Galadriel halts at the break of the treeline and gazes out towards the Fellowship, who stand far off in the distance. I stand beside her, squinting against the rays of the morning sun. The forest seems to have sprung to life. Birds whistle in the high treetops, while rabbits scurry about on the ground below. Golden leaves drifts down from the tall boughs, one of them coming to rest on my shoulder. I reach up and pluck it off, twiddling its end in my fingertips.

"They care greatly for you."  
>Galadriel's sharp voice cuts through the peaceful silence like a blade through butter.<p>

Tearing my gaze from the leaf, I look over at her with a frown. "How do you know?"

"I have seen the way they look at you," she says. "Legolas, Gimli, the hobbits. Even Estel. You have been a valuable addition to their quest."

"I hope so. My only wish is to keep them all safe."

The Elf Queen glances at me sharply. "Hope can only get you so far. It is your will to live that will keep your friends alive. They rely upon you greatly, perhaps even more so than Aragorn. It is up to the two of you, King and Queen of your own realms and kin, to defeat this growing evil. The company will need you now more than ever." Galadriel reaches down and takes my hand in her own. "Promise me this, Keira. Promise me that you will not give up on them, even when it seems hopeless." Our gazes meet, and I am surprised to find real sorrow shining in the starry depths of her eyes. "Promise me that you will take care of Frodo. He cannot do this alone."

"I will protect him with my life," I whisper, gripping hard onto her palm. "We will succeed, Galadriel. Together, we will triumph."

Galadriel smiles at me, but it is impossible to ignore the look of doubt etched onto her features. There is something she is not telling me. Pushing the thought away, I allow myself to continue.

"Thank you for everything, my lady. You have been nothing but kind to me these past few days. I only wish that we did not have to meet over such troubling matters as these."

"May the Valar bless the path that lies ahead of you," she replies, pulling back in order to place a hand on my cheek. Her gaze is as hard as ice. "Alámenë, Keira, i máramesta."

"Namárië. Hantanyelórenyallo."

Galadriel smiles sadly, and with that we make our way back towards the Silverlode.

* * *

><p>"Pippin! What on earth are you doing?"<p>

The hobbit looks up at me, his face riddled with crumbs. In his hands lie the remains of a piece of lembas bread, one of the Lady of Lorien's many gifts to the company. A single bite is enough to fill up the stomach of the hungriest man. But apparently, such rules do not apply to Halfings.

"Something wrong, mi'lady?" he asks innocently. I glower at him before brushing the dust from the front of his shirt.

"You, my dear little friend, are a royal pig. Was one bite not enough for you?"

"Oh!" exclaims Pippin, quickly folding the lembas in its leaf wrapping. "I didn't know!"

I roll my eyes. "Valar forbid, if you come down sick on this journey, don't expect any sympathy from me!" Pippin blinks before nodding rapidly. I grin at his petrified expression before bustling off towards the shoreline. Legolas, Boromir, and Aragorn have already begun to load the boats with supplies. It wouldn't seem very kind to leave them to all the dirty work.

"Need some help, there?" I inquire, jogging up to the hunched over form of the Ranger. Aragorn gives a shallow grunt before looking over his shoulder.

"Nay, my lady," he says, "But perhaps Boromir might have use of you." The man's brow furrows in concentration as he turns back to his work. I watch on as he finishes coiling a rope in the bottom of his boat before turning to stack the weapons. Galadriel and Celeborn had given the company three elegant longboats in order to allow us passage along the River Anduin. Aragorn agreed to ferry Sam and Frodo, leaving Boromir to manage over the cousins. It appears that I will be left with Legolas and Gimli. And Carca, well… Carca will have nothing to do with water. Ever since our little incident with Glorfindel several months ago, he is reluctant to come near a river or lake unless it is to drink. For example, while the Fellowship works to stockpile our resources, the Breyta has taken to his wings and is now soaring through the clouds high above us. His dark form is but a sliver of ebony against an otherwise unblemished sky. I shake my head as I look to Aragorn once more.

"And what of Legolas?" I lean down in order to be at eye level with the Ranger. "Is he managing well?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

The voice is not Aragorn's. Frowning, I whirl around to see none other than the topic of my conversation standing several feet behind me, a large tan bag gathered in his arms. I give a small bleak of surprise and take a step backwards, accidentally bumping hips with the Ranger.

"I'm sorry!" I exclaim, placing an apologetic hand on his shoulder. Aragorn mutters something under his breath before waving me off. Resisting the impulse to cringe, I turn back to Legolas and smile weakly.

"Are you in need of any assistance?" My voice comes out high-pitched and wavered with embarrassment.

Legolas smirks, clearly amused. "Perhaps I could ask the same of you. What exactly are you trying to do, Keira?"

"You know that I hate standing around while others work. I was only hoping to find something to do, besides scold Pippin for munching on lembas."

"Has he been at it again? By Elendial's bright light, Halflings' stomachs must be made of iron! Not even Gimli could consume so much in such a small amount of time."

My mouth falls agape. "Define 'much.'"

"I happened to be walking by and found him consuming not one, but two portions of lembas."

"_Two?" _I lean my head back. "Blessed Valar, he's doomed! Why did Lady Galadriel ever mention it to him?"

"She does not know him as well as we do," he says. "Now come. If you are so willing to help, then I have knowledge of where you might be of use to us."

With a sigh of accomplishment I nod to him, and we continue on our way.

I do not like boats. No, I do not like boats at all.

It has taken several minutes and quite a bit of coaxing from Legolas to even get me into one of them. But even the Elf's strong grip cannot steady my wobbling legs, nor the trembling of my hands as I try desperately to hold onto him.

"You'll get the hang of it, lass," says Gimli, shooting me a wink from the shoreline. "I myself had some difficulty when I first tried it."

"And when… was that… master dwarf?" I manage to stammer out, screeching quietly as my foot slips on the boat's slick footboards. Legolas grips onto my waist, steadying me as much as possible, before slowly lowering my shivering form into a sitting position. Sackcloth bags, a rather wicked looking axe, and Legolas's bow line the floorboards beside me. Aduial, however, remains tucked away in the sheath strung tightly to my waist. Having now been freed from my Lorien garbs, I chose to embrace the feeling of my worn travelling cloths. I have missed my leggings and tunic, not to mention the ability to let my hair loose from the bonds of Elven clips. It now drapes freely over my shoulders and down my back, ebony tips coming to rest at the middle of my spine. My pointed ears are almost fully concealed beneath the sheer mass of it.

"There," says Legolas, startling me out of my thoughts. "Now remain still, and you should do quite nicely." The Elf's arms slowly begin to slip free of my waist.

"Wait!" I cut in, gripping hard onto his wrists as the boat begins to lurch to the side. "I don't think I can do this!"

"Having some trouble there?"

I look over my shoulder to see Boromir watching on from several feet away. His lips are stretched wide into a grin.

"I'm… managing," I say.

"I can see that." He casts a bemused glance at Legolas. "Running you ragged, is she?"

The Elf cocks his head and frowns. Chuckling to himself, Boromir winks at me before pacing off towards his own boat. I watch him as he goes and am made suddenly aware of Carca's presence residing within my mind. Even if the Breyta is not physically with me, his consciousness will continue to haunt my own until we meet again. I call out to him, willing to be given some sort of response. Instead, I find nothing.

"I do not understand Gondorians," Legolas says irritably, disrupting my thoughts. "They are far too full of themselves for my liking."

"And you aren't?" I inquire, quirking an eyebrow. The Elf glances down at me seriously, and Gimli snorts. "Oh dear, have I harmed your pride, Legolas?"

"Such talk would not be approved if we were in the halls of my father. He would just as soon have you thrown in the dungeons rather than be lectured on pride."

"Oh?" I look over at Gimli. "Did you hear that, master dwarf? I do believe Legolas just threatened me!"

"Did he, now?" The dwarf rises up from his seated position and crosses his arms. "You best be mindin' your tongue, Princeling, or it'll be the first thing to go!"

"Not if I were to rid of yours first."

"Gentlemen!"

Both Elf and dwarf turn to look at me. "There is no need to quarrel."

"I am no child," says Legolas, "And I do not appreciate being referred to as one." His tone seethes with bitterness. I frown. Usually, the Elf has a rather happy and playful temperament. It is rare to see him unamused. Heaving a sigh, I wobble to my feet before stepping back onto shore. Legolas's blue eyes would seem condescending to most as he gazes down upon me, but I am able to see the true emotion beneath them. He is upset.

My shoulder skirts across his as I step up to him, all attempts at humor forgotten. "What is wrong, Legolas? You are not yourself."

"How so?"

I glower severely. "Do not play innocent. I know there is something bothering you. Please tell me.

"It is nothing, I assure you." Tentatively, the Prince clasps hold of my elbow. "But it seems to me that you are void of sorrow. Are you not saddened to be leaving?"

"Yes." I brush a stray wisp of hair behind his ear, allowing my thumb to trail along his cheekbone. "Yes, of course I am. Legolas, I would give anything to stay here just one day more. But I know that our journey must resume as quickly as possible. I will not rest in luxury whilst innocent lives are being lost." A clammy feeling washes over me as I imagine the horror that the kingdoms of Rohan and Gondor must be enduring. Women and children, covered in ash and dust, fleeing through the streets while Orcs ravage their town. The old and crippled, left to die in the constricting smoke with no means of escape. The screams of horses as they are burned alive within the flame-licked stables. Infants wailing as their mothers fail to reach them in time.

Setting my jaw, I force myself to push back the dark thoughts in order to keep my composure. "I would rather die a thousand deaths than to witness such things. But die I cannot." I try a smile. "I have shed tears at the thought of leaving this fair golden wood. Do not mistake me to be so unfeeling, and don't let yourself become bitter because of it."

"Sorrow is my plight, and sorrow alone," Legolas says. "I wish only that my Woodland kin remain well in our leave. The Lady Galadriel will guard Lorien well, yet I fear that the powers of her ring may not be enough to do away with the Orcs at their borders."

"Do not trouble yourself with matters that you do not control," I tell him. "I will ensure that Lothlorien remains free of evil following our departure. My warriors will join with them in battle, if all else fails. They will respond to my and Frodo's every call."

Legolas frowns. "Frodo?"

I swallow hard before continuing. "Moments prior to the start of this quest, I bestowed upon the hobbit a necklace carved from the tooth of a wolf. He need only recite the runes engraved on it for help to come, whether it be by my Riders or Carca and I."

"Mellon nin, why have you kept this from me?" he asks, leaning closer. "This is information that could be useful to us all, Keira."

"How so?"

The Elf closes his eyes, and for a moment I think he might lose his temper. But instead, I feel his fingers slip underneath my chin, angling my face up towards his. His gaze is soft with knowing as he looks upon me once more.

"It does not matter now," he says gently. "The only thing left for us to do is to protect Frodo, and I see now that you have nigh covered that yourself." Legolas glances off to the side, then back at me. Something about his demeanor seems to change just then. His lips pull into a tight line, with his brow set in a stoic expression. For a moment, I don't even recognize him. This is, after all, the face of royalty. The hardened features of a wise and proud leader. Legolas Thranduilion, only heir of Thranduil Opherion, Prince of the Woodland Realm. I blink once, shocked, before stepping back.

"There is someone here to see you," Legolas says stiffly. He then gives a short nod towards the forest behind him. Eyeing the Elf carefully, I take a long pace around him before peering out into the trees. There, shrouded in the golden rays of dawn, stands Haldir. His features do not appear as harsh now, yet there is a certain hardness about them that sends shivers down my spine.

"Haldir," I say, making my way towards him.

"Lady Keira," he says, bowing once. His eyes, as grey and stormy as the sea, briefly capture hold of my own. "I must speak to you at once. The matter is urgent." Haldir then turns on heel and begins to stride deeper into the forest.

"Of course," I say, then under my breath, "A popular one, I am." Casting a weary look back at Legolas, I smooth out my tunic before following after the marchwarren. "What is so important that you must speak of it now?" I inquire upon reaching him. "If I recall, you were said to be out on patrol."  
>"Aye, I was. But that was before I discovered this." Haldir extends a palm towards me, revealing a perfectly smooth golden object clutched in his grasp. It is round and oblong, with a hint of crimson tinting at its edges. I feel a deep cold begin to creep into my heart.<p>

"Valar forbid… May I?" My eyes flit to the Elf's, and he nods once. Tentatively, I reach out and take hold of the object. It is surprisingly cool to the touch. I stroke along its outer rim, allowing my fingertip to caress its surface. The gesture is anything but caring, however. I am simply testing to see if my presumption of the object's identity is correct.

Breathing in deeply, I allow my mind to empty before whispering, "Runya e orto," As if on cue, a strange orange glow spreads out beneath the gold, revealing a single rune burnt red in its center. Then, as quick as a strike of lightning, the object disintegrates into white dust. My breath hitches, and I close my eyes before allowing its remains to fall from my palm.

"A Lypta scale. It is as I feared." I pause to glance up at him. "Where did you find this?"

"On the outskirts of our borders not an hour past. I was told that you have great knowledge on Sauron and the evil surrounding him, and thus was moved to consult you on the matter." Haldir folds his arms. "Can Lorien's borders be breached by these creatures?"

"Haldir, I am not the right person to ask of this matter. Surely the Lord Celeborn or Lady Galadriel would have a better answer."

"It was my Lord Celeborn that instructed me to inquire it of you," he says evenly.

I cross my arms uncomfortably. "Nevertheless, I cannot give you the answer you seek. The Lypta are as cunning as they are wicked. They will stop at nothing to infiltrate the woods of Lorien, and I can state with certainly that, judging by the presence of the scale, they have almost succeeded. The power of Galadriel's ring will keep them from entering your borders on foot, but Sauron's drakes are also airborne. It will not take them long to find a way to cause destruction." I pause, pinching at the bridge of my nose, before looking at him sadly. "There is nothing more you can do. The Lypta are bred to burn and destroy, and that is what their mind-set shall always be."

Haldir's face pales considerably. "It is my duty as marchwarren to protect my kin. Are you to tell me that I have failed that task?"

"I am saying that this matter is out of your hands." Glancing downwards, I finger past my tunic in order to bring out the square pendant I have nestled on a chain around my neck. With a mental sigh of reluctance I yank hard on it, snapping its bonds, before extending it to Haldir. "But it is not out of mine. Take this. If you ever are to need the help of my winged warriors, you need only speak the runes engraved upon its surface. The Riders will come to your aid, as surely as the sun will rise."

"You have my deepest gratitude," says Haldir, plucking the necklace from my fingers. "I shall inform my Lord and Lady of this at once."

"You must promise me something, Haldir!" I call, stopping the Elf in his preparation to depart. The marchwarren looks at me expectantly, and I gaze back at him, my eyes pinched in sadness. "Promise me that you will not take my gift for granted. That you will use it only during the moments of greatest distress."

Much to my surprise, Haldir turns back towards me before grasping hold of both my arms. "Keira Whitam, Chosen of the Valar, highest of the Riders, I swear to you upon my own life and the lives of my kin that I shall not take your generosity for granted. May the River carry you along safer paths than those that led Sauron's bane to this forest."

I smile. "Thank you, Haldir. You have been a most gracious host."

The corner of his lips quirks ever so slightly. "Farewell, my good lady. I pray that the stars shine brightly upon your venture."

Sighing sadly, I give his shoulder a small squeeze. "Farewell. In time, we shall meet again."

"In time."

* * *

><p>"I have taken my worst wound at this parting, having looked my last upon that which is fairest." Gimli heaves a sigh as he gazes off down the River. "Henceforth I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me."<p>

It has been nearly an hour since our departure of Lothlorien, and already I can feel the deep calm of the woods fading from my mind. Even Gimli seems strangely distraught upon leaving, despite his strong dislike of Elves.

"What was her gift?" inquires Legolas at length.

The dwarf is silent for a moment before responding. "I asked her for one hair from her golden head. She gave me three." I don't have to look at him to know that there is a smile on his face. Legolas, too, appears to find some pleasure in Gimli's words. As I am seated in between the two, I have found myself rather pleased with the lack of tension. I would have expected at least one of them to have thrown an insult already, yet they have been nothing but pleasant. But then again, it is still early in our travels. There's no telling what might instigate confrontation.

The gentle swish of the oar as Legolas paddles us further downstream acts as the only sound to break the heavy silence that resounds about us. I feel the Elf's breath, warm and comforting, on the back of my neck. Its minty fragence puts me at ease. Perhaps this journey down the River might not be so bad, after all. At the rate we are moving, we should have made swift progress by sundown.

Boromir and Aragorn have quite literally been left in our wake. Not even the strength of men can match the endurance of Elves, even when said Elf has the weight of a dwarf and a woman. Not to mention our stockpile of food and weapons. Nevertheless, he barely seems winded.

"What did Galadriel give to you, Keira?"

I jump at the sound of Legolas's voice, rocking the boat ever so slightly. Gimli clutches onto the sides in order to steady it. The Elf's words seem to transport me back several hours earlier, when the Lady of Light bestowed something upon me that I can never repay. A gift, but most importantly, a warning.

"Keira?"

Glancing back at him, I feel my lips tug into a smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Legolas seems to deflate a bit. "If you wish not to tell me, I understand."

"Stars above, it's called sarcasm, Legolas!" With a grunt I reach down before taking hold of a large bundle of cloth resting along the boat's side. The fabric is smooth and silken, embroidered with silver vines and elegant flowers. I carefully work to unravel it until its contents spill out onto my lap.

Resting silently upon my thighs are a pair of silver longknives. Elvish runes are engraved along the blades, adding elegance and beauty to equally lavish weapons. Sparkling sapphire jewels dot along the upper hilt, while thin silver vines twist down beneath. Gimli, having turned towards me, gives a soft gasp.

"Those are fine blades," Legolas says. "Their craftsmanship is far beyond any of those forged by my Greenwood kin. They must have been wielded by the High Elves of old, for they possess a deep and ancient beauty. Did Galadriel tell you of their previous bearer?"

My palms grow dank with sweat as his words remind me of my last encounter with the she-elf. "No, she did not." Lies. All lies. But better to deceive him rather than reveal of the thing the Galadriel strictly prohibiting me from speaking of.

"A shame. Perhaps it was someone of great importance."

I look over my shoulder, and Legolas smiles. Oblivious. I have gotten good at tricking him into believing things that aren't true. He claims to know when I'm lying, yet he does not acknowledge it now. But surely he must've sensed the unease in my tone. The tightness in my voice. The paleness of my knuckles as I twiddle the blades in my fingers. An overwhelming feeling of dread washes over me, and I look away sharply.

_It's better this way, _I assure myself. _Legolas will be safe not knowing of it._

'It' being the dark warning Galadriel gave to me moments before out departure. A looming omen, foretelling the end of all things. Death and destruction, ash and fire, mist and shadow. Her words echo in my ears like a haunting ghost, pounding them into my memory over and over again. She had kept them from me at first, unsure of whether or not I would be able to handle them. After I passed her test, however, the Lady of Light decided to tell me the Prophecy of the Seventh, foretelling the fate of the last of the Were-riders. But it was the final phrase she spoke that hit me the hardest. That struck real fear in my heart.

_Keira. _

Carca's voice that jolts me from my thoughts. I allow my mind to open in order to form an image of him. His eyes, standing out from amidst a background of black, are shadowed with an emotion beyond me. After all, I was not the only one who was told the prophecy. Carca is my trusted protector, the only creature on this earth that knows me even better than he does himself. How could he not be told of what is to come?

_How do you fare? _he asks.

_I am managing. _Another lie. _Though I do not think myself to be able to last much longer in this dratted boat._

_ That is not what I meant. _Carca's image blurs out for a moment, signifying one of his many mood shifts. _I would not wish this dark fate upon you. If it is your desire, we could perhaps depart the company sometime during the…_

"No!"

The word escapes my lips before I am able to stop it. Both Legolas and Gimli shoot me queer looks combined with furrowed brows.

"Something wrong, lass?" inquires the dwarf.

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. My eyes flit to Gimli, then down to my feet. "It's nothing." Heaving a gentle sigh, I busy myself with rewrapping my long-knives and stowing them away. As I do so, my cheeks begin to tingle with embarrassment. How could I lose control like that? My mental conversations with Carca are between just the two of us, or at least they should be. Have I been letting things slip when I shouldn't be?

Suddenly, the rhythmic swishing of the paddle ceases, and I feel something warm press against my shoulder. Legolas's hand. I feel my vision grow blurry with tears. Leave it to the Prince to know when I am hurting. Slowly, I bring my own hand up in order to thread my fingers through his.

"Gellon ned i galar i chent gîn ned i gladhol," he says. "Do not let darkness take that away."

"I'm scared, Legolas." A single tear drips down from my lashes before plopping onto my lap. This is the first time that I have fully admitted being frightened to him. I don't know what he'll think of me, now. The Elf gazes down at me softly, his blue eyes calm and passionate. Then he says something that surprises me.

"I am, too." His words are spoken quietly, as to not be overheard by Gimli. "It is only natural, Keira. There is no good reason for us not to be. It is only our will to live that drives us now. Nothing more than the fleeting shadow of a hope."

"But yet it still remains." Looking to the sky, I watch as Carca's low-flying shadow glides overheard. The Wolf's eyes are but slivers of glinting gold as he turns his gaze down towards us.

_I will not abandon them, _I say. _They need us. You heard what Galadriel said. Without our aid to destroy Karr, Middle Earth will fall to ruin._

Carca's sigh twists its way through my mind. _Your bravery is great, Keira. Keep hold of it, and perhaps the omen can be done away with. It is, after all, the word of a she-elf we are going by._

_A she-elf who has been alive longer than I can even fathom. _I stroke a piece of hair behind my ear, flinching slightly as my fingertips run across its pointed tip. It serves as a daily reminder that I am not only human. I was born with half-elven blood, and whether I like it or not, I will never know where I belong. But here within the company, we are all equals. Even if one's power is greater than another's. They would never abandon me.

How could I ever think to do so to them?

_We will discuss this matter later. I fly ahead to survey the River. _With that Carca severs our connection, and Galadriel's words return to ring in my mind.

"_Seventh Wolf-rider until the sun,_

_Through gold and blood shall your war be won._

_A crimson honey, as thick as rain,_

_Shall seep from the jaws of Sauron's bane._

_Slain by the Eventide, a silver storm,_

_The plague of the One shall be no more."_

Those were the words that the Elf Lady told to me and my companion. But unbeknownst to Carca, she had left out a single phrase. One that was to be told only to the one it pertains to. I remember the look of sorrow buried beneath her eyes are she whispered the last words within my mind.

_The Fire of ages will consume your heart,_

_But through your death, you have done your part._

There are always risks to be taken when embarking a quest such as this. Carca and I both knew it. That the odds of everyone coming back alive were slim at best. And we were right. Gandalf has fallen into shadow. Boromir has become dangerously drawn to the ring, and Frodo… well, Frodo is a different story. The dark truth of the matter is that for this mission to succeed, someone will have to die.

And somewhere, in the deepest and darkest corner of my mind, I knew that someone was going to be me.

After Gandalf fell, I second-guessed myself. Perhaps his sacrifice would be all that was needed. But then there was Galadriel's omen to predict the exact thing I hoped to avoid. That I would have to die. When and where, I do not know, only that it will happen. Yet the thought of death is inexplicably terrifying, though I do not know why. For twenty years I have been trained how to survive in the wild. Back then, death was simply a faraway thought in the back of my mind. Sure, Orcs and Lypta might seem like daunting foes, but my powers were far greater than theirs. I was almost always guaranteed victory.

Now I am not so sure.

But even though a part of me shies away from the thought of dying, the longer I stay with the Fellowship, and the more dear they become in my heart, I find myself willing to pay the ultimate price. No amount of pain or torture could ever take away my love for each one of them. Even Boromir. They are my friends, and I would give my life to ensure their safety.

_Your heart will not survive._

An image of Galadriel flashes before my eyes, disrupting my thoughts. She stands amidst the golden woods of Lorien, her white robes melding into the light of the sun. Blue eyes pierce into my own, as sharp and probing as snake fangs. They serve as a reminder. A reminder to heed her words, to know them like the back of my own hand. To never tell anyone about the true prophecy. Not even the company. Not even Carca.

_Be brave, Keira of the Chosen. _

The vision wavers, blurring out as the she-elf raises a hand in farewell.

_Be brave._

And with that she is gone.

* * *

><p><em>You are coming. <em>

_With every passing hour I can better hear the beating of your heart. The rush of blood as it flows through your half-bred veins. My jaws ache to end the relentless noises of your life-force._ _Soon I shall be rid of you and your little Wolf-filth pet. Your Fellowship of illiterates has begun to dissipate. Already the grey Wizard has fallen prey to the fangs of the Red Demon, and in three days' time another shall pass. Saruman's beasts will flush him out like wolves among sheep. Already I can smell the tang of Boromir of Gondor's blood melding will the tears of the Were-rider. Your tears. Oh, how your fragile heart will despair at the thought of losing one so misunderstood. _

_If only you knew that it is your own life that is on the brink, now._

_The fires of Doom have grown unstable. My lair will not satisfy me for much longer. The One sees all from his dark tower, yet he is blind to the power growing beneath his very gaze. Sauron regards me as a mindless beast, a simple fire-drake such as the worm, Smaug._

_But that is not so. I am the Lord of Fire and Darkness. From ash and flame I was risen to life. From the bones of the dead was my body made. In the darkest depths of Mordor were my lungs given breath. And in the Cracks of Mount Doom, I was given my flames. With the power granted to me I will slay you, Keira Whitam, and paint the ground with your blood. I will kill every one of your little friends, started with the Wood-rat of an Elf Prince. You fancy him. I have looked deeply into your mind to see the full extent of your rather… complicated relationship. Perhaps your heart need not be broken by my hand, should you witness his fair face being scorched into nonexistence. I might just end his life first if only to let you suffer. _

_ My dear Keira, how I long to see you suffer. You are so close now. It is only a matter of time before you find the courage to challenge me, and then you will fall. _

_The time of the Riders is over, little girl._

_The Reign of Fire has begun._

* * *

><p><strong><em>See what I did there? Huh? Huh?<em>**

**_Ugh, so I got my wisdom teeth out last week... one word. MISERY. Please forgive me for the wait, but I was in no shape to publish, with my cheeks puffed to twice their regular size. I'm finally recovered now, so time to get back into the writing grove! Please feel free to give me feedback on this chapter... I wrote and rewrote it over and over again before finally settling on this version. _**

**_Thanks for reading, and have a great rest of your weekend! xx_**

**_-PC _**


	26. Departed

*slithers out from Mount Doom* BACK AGAIN!

* * *

><p>"Theiives!"<p>

The voice jolts me from my peaceful slumber, and I sit up with a cry. My eyes, burning with unshed tears, are met with utter darkness as I gaze up at the night sky. The gentle hum of the River and the snoring of the hobbits are the only noises to be heard. Even the night creatures, the owls and wolves, appear to have fallen to silence. Chest heaving, I rise shakily to my feet before gazing down at Carca. The Breyta fidgets in slumber but does not wake. His eyelids have opened into half-slits, leaving only slivers of gold that peak out from beneath them. Dark saliva drips down from his exposed fangs.

"They stole it from us!"

The same terrible voice pierces through the night air. My hand travels down to Aduial's scabbard. The blade hums at my touch, ready to be of service.

"Carca," I whisper. When the wolf does not react, I kick him in the shoulder. "Carca!"

A low grumble sounds from deep within his throat, and Carca's eyes flutter open. "Have you no use of sleep, Keira?"

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" The Breyta gives a wide yawn, displaying an impressive array of fangs.

"A loud voice, coming from the far shore." I whip around, scanning the shadowed tree line. There is no telling what dangers might be lurking amidst the cover of night.

"I heard no such voice," says Carca, peering out across the River. "Surely you must be mistaken. If there was danger nearby, I would have smelt it by now."

"I could have sworn someone spoke," I say. "My ears are keen. It was no ghost I heard, nor was it a trick of the wind."

"Keira Whitam, there is nothing to be concerned about." Carca looks up at me seriously. "Sleep now. You need your rest."

With a sigh of frustration I sink to my knees and lean back against the wolf, allowing my head to rest against his massive shoulder. The steady beat of his heart drums in my ear as I press against him, trying desperately to block out whatever it was I heard. Carca's wing folds across my lap, shielding me from the cool winter breeze.

But before my eyes fall closed once more, I catch sight of something across the River bank. A lithe white figure, bowed into a crouch. Glinting eyes peer at me from afar, ripe with intrigue and malice.

"Baggins," the creature lisps, and then is no more.

* * *

><p>"Good morning."<p>

The warmth of the voice matches with that of the hand pressed against my cheek. It is hard and callused, yet harbors a distinct familiarity that moves me to open my eyes. The tanned face of a man peers down at me, his blue gaze deep and thoughtful. Hazel-gold hair falls in loose waves down to his shoulders. My lips fall agape to form a single word, one that I have not spoken in twenty years.

"Father?"

Miniscule wrinkles fan out from the corners of the man's eyes. "Hello, my dear. You've slept late."

"Father, how…?" I whisper, tears spilling down my cheeks. "I saw the cart. The bodies." My voice catches. "_Your _body."

Byron frowns. "Was it the nightmares, again?"

I open my mouth to respond, but words fail me. Smiling with sympathy, Father bends down to kiss my forehead. "Don't let them get to you," he says. "There are more important things to dwell on rather than the darkness of your own mind."

Byron's beard prickles against my skin as I lean into him, arms stretching up to wrap around his neck. "All these years I have longed to have you with me again. Long nights I have spent alone in the wilderness, wishing that my father was there to guide me."

"I am here now, my daughter," says Byron gently. His hair smells freshly of winter mint, a spice found only in the woods of Lothlorien. I recall that my father often ventured to the forest in order to gather the silver-leafed plant. The thought brings a smile to my face.

"The men are waiting for me." Father's words bring me back to reality. Brow furrowed, I pull back to look him in the eye.

"What do you mean?" I inquire. "Aren't you going to stay here with me?"

"I wish I could, but my duties call me elsewhere."

My eyes widen. "But you cannot leave! Not now!"

Byron strokes his thumb along my cheekbone. "Vera," he soothes. "Do not worry for me."

The name sounds foreign to me at first, but then I remember. My father never called me Keira; he called me Vera, meaning the faithful. I was his beacon of hope during the darkest of hours, even when all other lights failed him.

A second tear drips free of the corner of my eye. "I love you, Father."

Another kiss, this time on my cheek. "I love you, too."

* * *

><p>When my eyes open next, I am met not with the kind face of my father, but with the dark expanse of sky stretching up above me. The faintest hint of pink has begun to bleed out into the horizon, signifying that the morning hour is not that long away.<p>

"Father?" My own voice surprises me. Blinking in confusion, I lean up into a sitting position. Realization comes quickly as I take note of the company slumbering peacefully near the forest borders. The newfound knowledge that Byron was no more than a dream dangles tauntingly in my face. Now my father is just a memory that has already begun to fade from my mind.

Sighing, I rise to my feet, careful not to disturb the sleeping form of Carca. The Breyta is oblivious to my inner turmoil, and for that I am glad. Words of comfort cannot heal wounds as deep as this. Not even if spoken by one so wise as he.

My footsteps hardly make a sound as I make my over towards the riverbank, savoring the feel of soft soil on my skin. I had taken off my boots in order to air out the countless blisters and abrasions marring my feet. Long days spent up by countless hours walking have taken their toll, but the cool winter air does well to sap away some of the pain.

I step up to the Anduin's sandy shoreline, allowing the water to lick at my toes. The cooing of a morning dove and the ever present sound of rushing water are the only noises to be heard as I gaze out at the river's glassy surface. Thoughts of the creature I had seen earlier whirl about in my mind. It slunk about in a manner similar to an animal, but spoke with the intelligence of a person. That fact, not to mention the ghostly paleness of its skin, leads me to believe that the figure I saw shrouded in the darkness was Gollum. I have seen him before, once in Mirkwood all those years ago, then in the dismal mines of Moria. His behavior has grown suspicious of late, leading me to believe that he has become a bit too interested in our Fellowship's intentions.

"Odd," I mutter to myself. "Very odd."

Crossing my arms over my chest, I am just about to turn back when a flash of ivory fur catches my eye. I pivot on heel just in time to watch a pure white stag emerges from the tree line opposite me. It is a magnificent beast, with a massive rack of golden antlers that seem to glow in the dawning light. The stag's marble eyes take in my watching form almost immediately. Its black nose wiggles, having caught my strange new scent.

"Don't be afraid," I tell it softly. "I'm not here to hurt you."

The stag snorts at me and stamps its hoof. Then, as if deciding I am not a threat, the creature steps forward in order to drink from the River. Lips spread wide into a grin, I drop into a crouch and watch as the beautiful animal laps its fill before looking up once more. Its pearly muzzle glistens with water.

"A white stag is a rare sight to behold."

I startle at the sound of Legolas's voice. The Elf comes to stand beside me, features placid as he observes the creature.

"They are said to bring luck to those who come upon them," I reply. "At least that is what my father told me."

"In a sense it does, but not in the ways you might think." Legolas drops down to my level, his eyes pale and wise. "A white stag represents the spirit of the forest itself. They are pure and beautiful creatures that would never harm another living being." The Prince's features seem to shadow over. "But there are some who cannot see that beauty. They seek to kill the stags and display their hides as tokens. One such person came to Mirkwood not thirty years before yourself."

"You speak of Thorin."

Legolas glances down at me. "You knew him?"

I laugh aloud. "I have never had dealings with dwarves, Legolas. They are much too boisterous for my taste. I have simply done readings on Erebor and its line of dwarf-lords. Oakenshield was killed in the Battle of the Five Armies, which occurred several years before I was even born. I could not have met him, even if I wanted to." A sigh racks through my body. "War is an awful, bloody affair. Those who do not see it as such are either misunderstood or complete fools."

"It is to my knowledge that Thorin was both." I look over at Legolas, surprised to find that his eyes are filled not with anger, but with sorrow, instead. "A great sickness laid upon Erebor," he continues. "One that had been festering in its halls many years before Smaug's reign of tyranny. The dwarves of the mountain had a deep and unquenchable thirst for gold. That thirst quickly grew more vast than any wealth they could hope to possess. The sickness corrupted Thorin from early on. He developed a bitter distaste for Elven kind, which was only escalated when my father restrained our kin from aiding the dwarves after the destruction of Dale."

"Why did he do that?" I ask. "It seems a bit far-fetched to bring out your whole army just to turn back."

"My father was not aware of the sheer destruction Smaug had caused. The dragon decimated Dale and had taken hold of the mountain far before he arrived. To challenge such a beast, even with a great host of warriors at his disposal, would have sentenced each of them to doom. Thranduil would not risk the lives of our own so easily."

I nod slowly. Legolas observes me in silence for a moment before stroking away a piece of wayward hair. "What is troubling you, Keira?"

"I am not troubled."

The Prince frowns. "Do not lie to me."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Since when were you so interested?"

"You are my friend," he replies simply. I try to ignore the fact that he trips over the last word. "And as such, anything that troubles you must also trouble me.

I sigh grudgingly. "I dreamt of my father, if you must know."

Legolas leans back. "Byron?"

"Yes."

There is short pause. "I dream often of my mother, as well. I was barely forty years old when she died."

"You've never mentioned your mother," I say. "What was she like?"

"I dare say she was quite a bit like you," he replies, gazing out at the River. "She was the reason to my father's ambition, the compassion to his cruelty."

"I wouldn't say I'm compassionate," I interject truthfully.

Legolas flashes me a glinting smile, something so rare that it takes me aback. "It was often said that her laugh could brighten even the darkest of days."

"If hers failed, I quite recon that yours would be a welcome substitute." Blinking fondly, I lean my head against his shoulder. "I am glad to have you here with me."

"And I, you."

Together we watch as the white stag casts one last look towards the Riverbank before bounding gracefully into the forest. In a matter of moments its vibrant hide has completely disappeared from view, leaving not the slightest of traces. The stag's departure saddens me. I may never get to see such an animal again. Not in this life, at least.

My eyes flutter up towards Legolas, watching as the rising sun turns his hair a transcendent shade of platinum. The Elf catches onto my gaze and returns it with one of his own. "It is still early yet, Keira," he says. "Try to rest."

A lump grows in my throat as an image of Byron flashes before me. "I'm not sure if I can."

Legolas blinks sympathetically before pressing his temple into my own. "Do you remember that night you found me in the forest?"

I chuckle softly. "How could I forget?"

"You had no reason to want to help me, no reason to risk your life to save my own. Yet you did it anyway. Why?"

My lip tugs. "Perhaps it was because I was a fool."

"How so?"

"I was a fool for thinking that the wisest, fairest, and most extraordinary creature I had ever known could ever be moved to care for a silly little human girl."

"Then you were wrong," he says gently. "I cared for you then, and I care for you now. Do not forget that."

I feel my heart stutter slightly. A warm feeling spreads throughout my body as I remember that night in Mirkwood. Remember the unfamiliar yet welcome feel of Legolas lying next to me. Nothing has changed. The years we have spent apart have done nothing but bind us closer.

"Sleep," the Prince whispers. "Do not dwell on dark things."

His words remind me of the very ones Byron spoke within my dream.

_Thank you, Father, _I say silently, craning my neck towards the sky. A single star still shines out amidst the rosy depths, winking mischievously.

_Thank you for sending him to me._

* * *

><p>"Enjoying yourself?"<p>

My eyes fly open to take in the terrifying sight of Carca looming before me. His black mane is bristled in agitation and annoyance. I spring to my feet, moving to apologize to Legolas, when I realize that he is nowhere to be found. Frowning, I shift my gaze towards Carca.

"Where are the others?" I inquire.

"Readying the boats," he growls. "As they should be. It is half an hour past dawn. Since when have you slept so late?"

"I didn't realize…" I stammer. "The night just went by… so fast. We have to get moving."

Carca sticks out a paw to prevent me from leaving. "Not before you have had something substantial to eat. There is nothing worse than bearing about a cranky Rider."

I smirk at him. "Good to know."

"In your mind, I suppose it is. Come now, Sam has just finished cooking the last of the sausages. Best to get your hands on one before Gimli devours the whole lot."

I nod sleepily, trying desperately to blink away the growing haze in my eyes. Since when have I ever overslept? Perhaps it is due my sighting of the white stag or of Gollum. But somewhere deep within me, I know that is not the case. Neither creature has the power to coax me back to sleep after such a painful dream. Only an Elf could attempt such a feet and succeed.

"How long have you been up?" I ask of my companion as we make our way over to the group.

"A good hour or so. I let you sleep as late as I could, but I fear that the company had begun to grow anxious for you."

"Indeed." Suddenly, I grab hold of Carca's foreleg, halting us both. "I saw something, Carca. It was not a nightmare, nor a figment of my imagination. It was the creature Gollum we stood across the River bank."

The Breyta seems to darken a bit. "I know. I saw the creature, as well. He has been following us since the Mines."

My mouth falls open. "You lied to me?"

"Keira!" We both turn to see Strider waving us over. "We haven't much time."

Carca moves towards him, but my grip tightens. Swirls of blue magic spiral out from my fingers, making it impossible for him to escape me. "You are not going anywhere until you tell me what in the name of the Valar is going on. Why is Gollum following us?"

"He seeks out the Ring," says Carca. "He is drawn to it as a moth is to a light. It is only a matter of time before he becomes bold enough to challenge Frodo."

Eyes flashing, I lean in close to him until my lips are brushing against his ear. "He is not the only one."

Carca pulls back slightly, his golden gaze meeting with my own. "You speak of Boromir."

"Aye."

My companion heaves a sigh. "As much as I dislike the man, I also fear for him. But there are some things we cannot stop from taking place." Carca blinks slowly. "His fate is bound to the Ring as much as Sauron's. It will take hold of him, and it will destroy him."

"You sound as if you are certain."

"That is because I am," he says harshly, padding back a few steps. "I go now to hunt. Do not wait for me."

With that he spreads his wings and launches up into the sky. I watch on as his dark form spirals higher and higher before disappearing amongst the clouds.

"Where's he off to, then?"

I turn round to see Gimli standing behind me, elbows resting on the hilt of his axe.

"Hunting," I say, trying my best to smile. "Sausages and elf bread can hardly satisfy the stomach of a hungry Breyta, not to mention one so massive as Carca."

"Indeed," says the dwarf. "I take it that he'll be gone for a while?"

"Not usually. The Breyta are quite proficient at it." I look at him curiously. "Why?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just makin' sure he doesn't have any plans of abandoning us."

His words strike a painful chord in my heart. After all this time we have spent with them, they still don't fully trust us. Smiling sadly, I kneel down before him and clasp his hands in my own.

"Gimli, neither I nor Carca would ever abandon you," I say. "We made a promise to keep you safe, and that promise shall stand until the end of time itself."

The dwarf shuffles uneasily before nodding.

"Oi, Miss Keira!" Sam's voice rings clear through the morning air. "We've saved some for you!"

"Thank you," Itell him, rising once more to my feet. Once I've made my way over to him, the hobbit reaches up and hands me a plate of steaming sausages. My mouth waters at the very smell. I've lost track of the last time I ate anything aside from lettuce and bread. The mere sight of meat is enough to make my stomach growl.

_Where are you, Carca? _My mind voice wavers slightly as I take a large bite of food. No reply comes at first, but then I hear what sounds like crunching.

_Near, _he rumbles amidst the racket.

_Sounds like you has success with your hunting._

_A yearling buck made the mistake of venturing out towards the River… _Carca pauses to swallow. _Perhaps he shall ponder over his regrets of doing so in the afterlife._

I can only hope that it was a regular deer that my companion killed, not the ethereal creature I had seen earlier.

_That is not very kind, Carca._

The Breyta huffs. _Nor is waking me up in the wee hours over something that does not exist._

_I beg to differ! _My voice echoes inside my own ears. _If you recall, you told me not five minutes ago that you saw the beast, as well._

_As far as you are concerned, we did not see anything, _Carca snaps. _We do not need to send the company into a panic. That white rat is hardly a threat to us. I could swallow him whole if I wished._

I pull a face. _I doubt that he would taste very nice._

_Not very nice at all._

"My lady."

I look over to see Aragorn striding up to me. His green eyes are clear and awake despite the early hour.

"Aragorn," I reply.

"We make for the Falls of Rauros," says the Ranger, gesturing to the East. "The journey ahead will be long, but if the weather permits, we shall arrive by sundown."

"Already?" I blink at him, shocked. Our week on the water has gone by in a blur. It seems like just yesterday that we left the peaceful confines of Lothlorien. But instead of hearing the sweet serenades of Elves, my ears are filled with the sound of silent ticking. Like a clock that will not cease, time makes me well aware that every fleeting second brings us closer to Mordor and Isenguard. And most of all, Karr.

"Thank you for informing me of this," I say. "Carca will be pleased to know that our River journey is almost at an end."

"Yes, he quite is."

I whip around, nearly spilling my food, just in time to see Carca swoop down beside me. His golden eyes flicker to Aragorn, scrutinizing the Ranger for a moment. Then he looks to me.

"You look undead," he says matter-of-factly. I roll my eyes.

"You're too kind."  
>The Breyta shoots me a look. "Are you ready to fly?"<p>

Stuffing the last of the sausages in my mouth, I nod to him. "Just collect my things from the boat."

"Be quick." Carca flexes his muscles. "The air is chill. I do not wish for my wings to freeze mid-flight. We best go now while they are still warm."

"Fine." I hand Sam my empty plate and thank him briefly.

"It was no trouble, Miss Keira," says the hobbit, his cheeks reddening.

I smile at him and jog down towards the shoreline. Legolas and Gimli have already begun to pack up their boat, and I am just able to reach them before my supplies are buried beneath their own.

"Hold on!" I yelp, staying Legolas's arm. The Elf looks up at me, an expression of shock written on his features.

"What do you need?" he inquires.

"My bow." Legolas blinks. "It is black in color," I continue. "I hardly ever use it, but I would like to have it with me."

"Is this it, lass?" Gimli hoists up a bundle of cloth. I can just make out the shining ebony tip of my longbow as it peeks at from beneath it.

"Yes, I believe so." Taking the bow in my hands, I remove its wrappings and hand them back to Gimli. "Thank you, master dwarf."

Making my way back to Carca, I sheathe Aduial in the saddle scabbard and retrieve my quiver from out of the many storage pockets. My companion perks his ears.

"I do not recall you being overly fond of archery," he says.

"I'm not. But if we happen to see Gollum from a height, perhaps I might be able to rid of the rat once and for all."

Carca chuckles. "Now you're sounding like a true Rider."

"Is an insult or a compliment?"  
>"Both." I strap the quiver across my back before hoisting myself onto the saddle. The longbow feels heavy and foreign compared to Aduial's light, familiar build. I don't know what I would do without the blade. Like Carca, it has been with me through the darkest of days. To lose Aduial would be losing a part of me.<p>

"Come on, Carca," I say, placing a hand on his neck. "Let's get out of here."

Carca abides at once, and not a moment later we are soaring high up in the clouds. The wind bites into my face like a thousand tiny daggers. I find myself wishing for my riding helmet. But it was lost during the fight with the lake monster in Moria. I can hardly recall seeing its bronze form falling from the saddle and into the beast's waiting jaws. A shame, really. It was crafted by one of our best blacksmiths. Perhaps I might have him forge a new one, once the journey is…

My thoughts come to a grinding halt as I remember Galadriel's dark omen. _I will not be alive to request such a thing_, I think solemnly.

Carca circles overhead the company for several minutes before they, too, begin their journey down the River. Legolas once again pulls ahead of the rest, with Boromir and the cousins trailing in his wake. I can just barely hear the burly voice of Gimli echoing across the landscape as he remarks about the wind and weather. I find myself grinning at his words.

_How you holding up? _I ask Legolas. The Elf tilts his head up towards the sky, and I can just make out the white glint of his smile.

_Very well. And yourself?_

_Well enough. The air has grown colder at this height, but Carca has flown through such conditions many times prior. Winter has nigh come to an end, at least in these parts. We need only brave it for a few days more._

_Fly long and hard, _he says. _But do not tire yourselves. We need you both at full strength for what surely lies ahead of us._

_Aye. _There is a short pause. _Legolas, have _you_ been seeing any… unusual creatures roaming about?_

_Like the white stag?_

_No, no, _I think back quickly. _Much uglier. Much, much uglier._

Legolas seems to realize where the conversation is headed. _If it is Gollum that you are concerned about, do not bother. Should that ghastly creature ever attempt to challenge Frodo for the Ring, he would not live to see another moon._

_Perhaps, but at what cost? _My knuckles pale as I grip hard onto my bow. _What if Gollum were to wound the Ringbearer? What if no one was there to protect him?_

_You are conflicted, Keira. I understand that. _Legolas's hair glints gold in the morning sun as the wind tosses it back behind him. _If you are so worried about the hobbit, perhaps you should watch over him more carefully. The two of you have hardly talked at all since Lorien. _

_There has been no need to._

_You talk to me, _the Elf says hardly. _How is Frodo any different?  
><em>His words, though spoken mentally, move me to silence. He is right. I do not often talk to Frodo, whereas Legolas and I speak daily to one another. But then again, as much as I hate to admit it, I do not love Frodo like I love the Prince. My friendship with Legolas has been tested and strained, but its flaws do no more than to bring us closer. Frodo, on the other hand, is rather quiet and reclusive. He is like a fawn, skittish and unsure. Constantly on the watch for danger. And he is smart for doing so. With creatures like Gollum roaming about, there's no telling what else might be lurking around the River bend.

_Well? _It is Legolas again. His voice has lost some of its steel, returning back to its normal, warm tone.

_I shall try to make an effort, _I reply.

_Good. I have a feeling that he shall be in need of your friendship now more than ever. Sam tries to help, but the hobbit has no training in the art of war. You, mellon nin, do._

I sigh audibly. _Your tactics of persuasion are most dreadfully effective. _

Legolas laughs, his voice sending pleasant chills down along my arms. _So I have been told._

The remainder of the day goes by rather swiftly. Carca and I barely speak. The Fellowship whispers amongst themselves. My eyes scan the forest below, but I never catch a glimpse of Gollum.

Then, just when I am about to inquire something of Carca, I feel his body tense beneath me.

"Keira, look."

I glance up just in time to see two enormous statues, shaped into the form of kings, appear through the mist of clouds. They have been carved out of the two cliffs bordering alongside a portion of the Anduin. Towering at least two hundred feet high, they are a magnificent yet impossible sight to behold. My mouth falls agape in awe.

"The Argonath," I whisper. "My father used to tell me stories of them. But never could I comprehend their true majesty unless it were with my own eyes."

"Aye." Carca folds his wings before dipping down from the sky. The Fellowship appears out of the haze bellow us, growing closer and closer as the Breyta banks towards them. When alas he levels into a glide, I can clearly make out each of their faces.

"Aragorn!" I call. The Ranger looks up at me, and I gesture ahead. His eyes grow wide with amazement. Then, at long last, he turns to the Ringbearer.

"Frodo. The Argonath. Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old. My kin."

The Fellowship looks up, awestruck, as the boats sail past the statues' towering splendor. Their left arms are extended outward to us, as if in warning. Carca flaps upwards until we are hovering in front of one of the magnificent carvings. Its ancient surface is dull and cracked, yet there remains a certain power hidden beneath its hard features that brings a smile to my face.

"The great kings of old," I whisper. "Age has no power against such marvels of Men."

"Here they will remain for many years to come," Carca says. "The day upon which they fall will be filled with sorrow."

"Aye. It will indeed."

* * *

><p>When the Fellowship finally arrives at the Falls, the sun has just begun to slide down from its high perch in the sky. The Hill of Sight lies only a hundred yards away from us, with the Falls of Rauros marking the end of our watery path. If the current were to pick up, the boats would surely be pulled over the edge. Yet Aragorn guides the company well, pulling the canoes onto the beach of Parth Galen. Once they are properly set, the others begin to unpack.<p>

"Land, Carca," I say. "Let us not leave them to do all the work."

The Breyta grumbles tiredly before touching down upon the soft sand. I slide down from the saddle and pack away my bow. Aduial's brilliant hilt glints wickedly as I slide it back into my own sheath. Having the blade ready at my hip gives me a strange sense of security. A sense that I have long missed during our days in Lothlorien.

"We cross the lake at nightfall," I hear Aragorn say. Turning to face him, I see that he appears to be talking to Gimli, who resides upon a large boulder. "Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north."

"Oh, yes?" growls the dwarf. Carca rolls his eyes. "It's just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil? An impassible labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks! And after that, it gets even better!" Pippin comes to stand next to me, a look of alarm written on his features. "Festering, stinking marshlands as far as the eye can see."

Agitation broils within me, and I step forward. "Forgive me, master dwarf, but I do not recall being told that this journey would be easy. If you do not wish to be thrust into such situations, than I suggest turning back now."

"Turn back? Turn _back_?" Gimli's face turns red with rage. "I'll be dead before I even consider such a thing!"

"Then I suggest you mind your tongue." I shoot Aragorn a look before turning to look at Pippin. "Don't let him bother you," I say softly. The hobbit nods once, his curly hair bobbing up and down.

"That is our road," Aragorn continues. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."

"Recover my…?" Gimli grumbles lowly before lumbering off to gather supplies.

A swift breeze seems to pass me by, and I glance over to see Legolas striding up to the Ranger. "We should leave now," he says.  
>"No," comes Aragorn's strong reply. "Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for the cover of darkness."<p>

"It is not the eastern shore the worries me. A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind." My boots crunch softly against the sand as I come to stand beside him. "Something draws near. I can feel it."

"What is it?" I ask. "Do you even know what you speak of?"

Legolas shakes his head. "I do not. But we must make haste."

"He wants me to recover my strength?" Gimli plods back over to us, looking now towards Pippin. "Pay no heed to that, young hobbit. Especially that snippy little…"

"Gimli!" I exclaim, whipping around to face him. "There's no need to be rude!" There is a pause before, oddly, I smile. "Although I have been called worse.'"

The dwarf eyes me carefully. "You best be mindin' yourself, young lass."

"I'm forty-three years old, master dwarf. You can hardly get away with calling me young… unless, of course, you are comparing me to Legolas."

The Elf looks down at me severely, and I snicker. My humor is short-lived, however, when I hear a familiar voice ring clear through the silence.

"Where's Frodo?"

I look round to see Merry appearing out from the forest, his arms full of wood and tinder. Sam, who had been napping nearby, rouses with a start. My brow furrows, and I look to Legolas.

"Frodo was here just minutes ago. I saw him with my own eyes," I say. "Where has he gone?"

"The forest," says Aragorn. His sharp eyes scan about the campsite before coming to rest upon something that strikes fear in my heart.

Boromir's unattended shield lying among the supplies.

"Valar," I whisper, turning to look at Carca. "Oh blessed Valar, what have we done?"

The Breyta turns his muzzle skyward before inhaling sharply. His golden eyes are bright with knowing.

"They are many paces away from here," Carca says. We must go quickly if we are to catch them in time." The Breyta tucks in his wings, allowing them to completely vanish against his black hide, then looks to me. "Do you wish to follow them?"

"I do not trust Boromir," I say. "The Ring has corrupted his mind. There is no telling what crime it might guilt him into committing." With a grunt of effort I boost myself on the Wolf's back. "We must prevent that from happening."

"Keira! Carca!"

My companion and I turn upon hearing Aragorn's voice. The man's steely green eyes delve deeply into my own.

"Do not act rashly," he says. "There are many dangers lurking about in these woods."  
>"I will not," I reply. "And to you yourself, Master Aragorn. Be safe."<p>

The Ranger dips his head to me, and with that Carca gives a powerful roar before launching us into the forest.

"How far until we reach them?" I ask, gripping hard onto the front of the saddle. The sharp winter breeze threads through my hair, whipping it over my shoulders and chilling my already cold face. Aduial's scabbard clatters against my hip as Carca dodges his way past trees and over rocks.

"At least five minutes," pants the Breyta. "Possibly longer. I know not when they took their leave."

I let out a heavy breath, watching as the yellowed foliage blurs by. The afternoon sun still shines in the sky, but its rays have begun to glow a deeper gold. In a matter of hours the land will be plunged into a cold and bitter darkness. If Frodo does not turn up beforehand, there is no telling what may have happened to him. Aragorn is right about the dangers in this forest, but he finds himself blind to the one lurking among us. The one possessed by greed and despair to the point of breaking.

"This is all my fault," I say. My eyes begin to burn as guilt settles in my heart. "If only I had kept a better eye on him, none of this would have—"

"Silence, Keira." Carca angles his head so as to meet my gaze. "None of this is your doing. We do not know for sure fi there is anything wrong at all."

From then on we ride in tense silence, neither one us sure of what to say. Carca's rhythmic pace slows slightly as the minutes pass. We are close, now. All that is left for us to do is look.

Then, just as I am about to dismount and search on foot, the sound of shouting fills the air. I start, and Carca digs his forepaws into the ground in order to halt our momentum. His ears perk, then swivel to the side, before lying flat against his head. The Wolf's golden gaze has come to rest upon the far hillside.

There, lying prone amongst the leaves, is Boromir. His hair is disheveled and clumped with dirt as he looks about him, eyes glazed with tears.

"Frodo?" he whimpers. "Frodo? What have I done?"

"Leave this to me," I hiss, sliding down from the saddle. The loud thump as my boots contact the ground seems to alert the man, as he looks around towards me.

"Lady Keira!" he exclaims. "I—Frodo—he fled farther up the hill. I know not where he means to go."

"And what was his motive for fleeing?" I ask sharply. Leaves crunch and sift beneath me as I make my way over to him. My fingers flutter briefly across Aduial's hilt.

Boromir stumbles to his feet, and it is then when I note the look of pure horror in his gaze. "I tried to take the Ring from him," he whispers. "Something came over me; a dark devilry, far beyond my own comprehension."

I come to stand before him, my eyes narrowed. "You succumbed to it. You harbor the same weakness as Isildur. Perhaps you are his heir, and not Aragorn, if only to explain your greed and lack of strength."

The Gondorian recoils a bit, his lip quivering. "Please… I meant him no harm!"

"Where has he gone?" I explode. In one swift motion I have unsheathed my sword and pressed its tip against his chest. My fingertips have begun to glow an unearthly blue, signifying the full extent of my rage. "Where is Frodo?"

"He—ran that way," Boromir stammers, gesturing up the hill. "Not a minute past."

"Did you hurt him?" The man opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Enraged, I bear down harder on Aduial, allowing its steely point to dig through the fabric of his shirt. "Has any harm come to Frodo Baggins?"

"No!" A single tear streaks down Boromir's cheek. It carves a path down his scuffed face before falling alas upon my blade. "No. I would sooner die than let such a thing happen."

A lump begins to grow in my throat as I observe the pain etched into his features. Am I being too harsh on him? Is the man truly oblivious to his actions? "Boromir," I whisper. "I want to believe you. Truly, I do. But years of living in the wilds have taught me that trust is hard to obtain."

"I do not ask for your trust," Boromir says, "Only that you would not think so lowly of me."

My lips pull into a tight line and, reluctantly, I slide Aduial back into its sheath. "I go now to look for Frodo. If he is unharmed, I will be lenient on my judgment of you. But if he is wounded in any way…" My hands sizzle with magic. "You will do your best to never cross me again." I look over my shoulder and usher Carca over to me. "My companion will ensure that you return safely to the River bank. There are dark forces at work in this forest. Follow his command, and do not challenge it."

_Keira._ Carca's voice rumbles in my mind. _I do not support this decision._

_I care not if you support it, _I reply, looking over at him. _But you will abide. _

The Breyta's eyes burn into mine like the very Fires of Mordor. _You could be running into a trap. Do not do this without me._

_Heed my words, Carca. _

Having gotten my point across, I shoot him one last look before turning to Boromir. "Do not take advantage of my compassion, Boromir of Gondor."

I step around the man, then begin to sprint further up the hill. My legs, though not as fleet as the slowest Elf, do well to propel me far and fast along the uneven turf. Twigs snap beneath my heavy tread, and I winch as a hard pine branch slaps me across the face. The frozen wood rakes painfully across my skin, leaving a deep abrasion in its wake. The trees prove to be interesting to navigate around, not to mention the large boulders jutting out from the ground. Minding my footing, I work to set my pace at a brisk run. The hill has begun to level out, and the further I go, the more nervous I become. There is no telling what lies ahead of me.

"Come on, Keira." I wipe absentmindedly at my cheek. If I wasn't in such a rush, the sight of my fingertips coming back crimson might startle me. But my mind is far too preoccupied to worry about my own injuries. The only thing on my mind is Frodo, and him alone.

_Faster, you have to go faster!_

With one last burst of energy, I allow my feet to propel me through a large cluster of foliage. Leaves rain down around me as I come to a grinding halt, shaking twigs and brambles from my hair. In front of me lies a good sized clearing, with the ancient Seat of Seeing making up its center. I have reached the top of Amon Hen. The sound of scuffling alerts me, and I step out from behind the cover of a tree in order to further take in the sight before me.

My heart drops as I realize that I am not alone.

I note in befuddlement that not only Frodo, but Aragorn, as well, stand beside the great structure. The Ranger has begun to approach the hobbit, his gaze locked on Frodo's outstretched hand. My eyes widen as I catch sight of the Ring nestled in his palm.

_What is he thinking?_

Just as I am about to intervene, Aragorn kneels down before him and closes the Halfing's hand over the wicked object. His eyes are soft with understanding.

"I would have gone with you to the end," he says. "Into the very fires of Mordor."

"I know," says Frodo in reply. "Look after the others. Especially Sam. He will not understand." Aragorn nods, his features solemn. Then, suddenly the Ranger's face twists in fear, and he leaps to his feet.

"Go Frodo," he says, drawing his sword. I follow his gaze to see that an eerie blue glow has begun to seep out from the hobbit's scabbard. Sting, his rather short yet powerful blade, is of Elvish make, forged to glow whenever Orcs or Goblins are nearby.

Which, much to my dismay, does not bode well for us.

"Run!" cries Aragorn. When Frodo hesitates once more, the Ranger shouts louder. "Run!"

Finally, the hobbit turns heel and makes a mad dash into forest. I watch him go, mouth agape in shock, before drawing up Aduial. Aragorn has begun to walk out from beneath the Seat of Seeing, sword raised in preparation to fight. Standing before him is a massive gathering of not Orcs, but Uruk-hai, instead. They are imposing beasts, standing roughly six feet tall and built stronger than any natural creature should be. But such things do not daunt Aragorn, nor do they strike fear into me.

Summoning my strength, I step out from my cover amongst the trees and twiddle my sword in challenge. The creatures let out a synchronized bellow, their mangled fangs gnashing grotesquely.

_You stand not alone, Aragorn, _I say silently, striding up beside him. _I fight with you now._

He glances back at me, lips stretched into a half-smile. "Then let us even the odds."

I grin back at him, and with a bloodcurdling roar the first wave of Uruk-hai charge. Metal clashes against metal as the creatures bear down upon us. Aragorn cuts down the first few with ease, and I plunge my sword into one beast's stomach before wrenching it out to decapitate a second. The creatures' garbled howls fill the air as another wave joins in with the first, this time pushing us back towards the ancient ruins. I aim a swipe at a particularly large Uruk before leaping nimbly onto the Seat's stairs. Aragorn follows suit as the creatures swarm up after us. Uruk after screaming Uruk falls to the ground as Aragorn and I hack them off the stairwell, splattering black blood onto the stone. One beast sends its hatchet spinning towards my head, and I duck down just as the blade sails over my nose.

The shock of nearly having my head cloven off ignites within me a deep and powerful rage, and with a cry of anger I extend a hand towards the beast. _"Runya e orto!"_

A sound like crackling lighting explodes from my hand. Not a moment later, a shard of pure energy crashes down into the Uruk's chest. The resounding aftershock sends some of the beasts scrabbling for cover. Aragorn looks over at me, his eyes wide with disbelief as the ground trembles beneath us. His momentary distraction allows an Uruk to sneak behind him, its axe raised in preparation to cut him down.

"Behind you!" I yelp, but there is no need. Not a moment after I have spoken, an earth-shattering roar splits through the air, and a black blur slams into the unfortunate beast. Both creatures tumble down from the rooftop and proceed to grovel on the ground beneath. The Uruk swings its weapon aimlessly before being stilled by a bite to throat. There is no mistaking the familiar golden eyes of Carca as he looks up at me, fangs dripping with blood.

"Carca," I whisper. As if on cue, two more figures burst through the foliage. Legolas and Gimli. Slicing through yet another opponent, I watch in awe as the dwarf plunges straight into the fray, heaving his axe like a madman. His Elven companion keeps his distance, however, and instead fells his enemies by means of a longbow.

Go!" Legolas shouts. "Both of you!"

With a grunt I shove back an approaching creature just as Aragorn barrels past me. With a cry of, "Elendial!" he leaps down upon the mass of Uruk-hai. I shoot a volt of magic down after him, disintegrating five beasts and giving me a clear spot to jump.

"To me, Carca!" I yell, jumping down to land beside the Ranger. My companion gives a snarl of menace as he hurls an Uruk into a nearby tree, snapping its spine and killing it instantly. Five more creatures come to stand in the place of their fallen companion, growling and spitting at the Breyta. Carca simply grins before bounding over them, his back paws slashing at their helms.

"Your timing is impeccable," I say, elbowing an Uruk in the face before spinning round towards the Wolf.

"The commotion could be heard from a mile away." A large Uruk-hai makes the mistake of landing a sword cut on Carca's shoulder. A yowl of pain tears out from his throat, and, eyes flaring, the Breyta whips around to face the beast. They share a look of malcontent before Carca rakes his claws down its chest. Blood spurts upon the Wolf's face as the mangled corpse falls to the ground, gurgling and twitching.

Enraged, I lash out with Aduial, striking down two creatures in a single swipe. "Where is Boromir?" Carca leaps out in front of me. His massive frame flattens the last remaining Uruk-hai and clears a path for me in turn.

"I released him upon hearing your calls." Carca spins around to face me. "He said he was to follow after me, but no doubt was delayed by the enemy."

"Carca, how could you?" I cry. "Boromir must be up to his knees in Uruks!"

"As… are…we!"

I seethe at him and am preparing to shoot back a retaliation of my own when a loud yowl suddenly reaches my ears. I look over to the side to see an injured Uruk struggling to regain its footing. There is a bloody stump where its right arm should be. With a vicious snarl Carca lunges forward and rips out the creature's throat, ending its strangled misery. Pulling a face, the Breyta spits out a mouthful of black flesh before turning towards me once more. "I had no choice but to leave him," he says. "It was that or risk losing you."

Frowning, I open my mouth to reply but am cut short by a sound that turns the very blood in my veins to ice. The wailing cry of an ox-horn. It calls out from deep within the forest, as clear and piercing as the daylight that streams down through the treetops.

_The Horn of Gondor._

Legolas shouts out the very words I had been thinking. Aragorn, having thrown aside his most recent kill, gives a yell of anger. Something within me snaps, and I feel what little hope I had within me seep down into nothingness. "No," I whisper, then louder, "Hold on, Boromir!"

Before Carca can stop me, I shove past him and bolt out into the forest. The landscape around me becomes nothing more than a blur as I race towards the sound of the horn. A flood of Uruks has begun to wave out before me, their heavy steps sending tremors throughout the earth. They, too, heard the horn blast. And it does not take a wise person to know what it signifies.

A great roar thunders through the treetops, followed closely by a groveled scream. Carca has begun his pursuit. His presence roasts inside of my mind like a blazing wildfire, scorching through my thoughts and memories as he works to intervene.

_Keira!_

_Keira, stop! _

_You cannot fight this battle alone!_

I ignore his desperate pleas and instead concentrate on what lies ahead of me. Carca's voice soon becomes nothing more than a receding echo as our connection flickers out, like a stray flame caught in the wind, before becoming no more.

_I'm coming, Boromir. Just hold on._

I can just barely make out the black figures of Uruk-hai as they swarm far up ahead of me. Their terrible cries pierce through the still forest air, sending trills of fear ricketing down my spine. Fear not just for myself, but for Boromir, as well. The sheer number of foes up against him is massive. He is sure to be overwhelmed in a matter of minutes. Seconds, even.

If I do not intervene, I am sentencing him to death.

A second horn blast sounds all the clearer, followed shortly by another. I dodge my way through a cluster of boulders, my breath coming out in hot pants. Time is running out. Every passing moment might the last for the Gondorian. The wind whips me in the face as I sprint across a stone bridge leading up to the rippling mass of Uruks.

Amidst the chaos unfolding before me, I am barely able to make out the form of a man as he prepares to fend off the creatures drawing closer towards him. One beast charges out ahead of the others, lunging at Boromir with his sword drawn. The man ducks the Uruk's blow before flipping it over onto its back. Only then do I see the true reason behind his efforts. Merry and Pippin stand beside him, their eyes bright with anger. The two cousins pounce on the wounded creature and begin to stab at it with their blades. Not a moment afterwards, a second Uruk rushes to challenge Boromir, and then another.

"Run!" shouts the man, plunging his sword into one of the creatures' abdomen.

The hobbits retreat to a safer distance, settling instead on pelting rocks at the foul beasts. A grunt of effort sounds from Boromir as he works to defend them, but he is oblivious the fact the he does not fight alone.

_"__Death!"_

With a cry of rage I leap forward before plunging my blade into the back of the nearest Uruk-hai. The beast throws its head back with a roar as I wrench Aduial free of it, my face splattered with foul-smelling blood. Boromir looks up briefly, his face twisted in shock and awe as I slice through two more foes. Merry and Pippin each give a gleeful shout of, "Keira!"

Pulling my sword from yet another body, I rise up just in time to parry the blow of a massive black Uruk. The creature snarls at me, revealing malformed fangs that reek of decay. A horrible screeching ensues as its iron blade grinds against Aduial's polished edge.

Setting my jaw, I shove back against it before delivering a brutal side kick to the Uruk's knee. A revolting crunch ensues as the creature's leg gives way beneath the sheer and unexpected force of the blow. The Uruk doubles over in pain, and I severe its head in one clean blow. Having defeated the beast, I then turn my attention towards Boromir.

Bodies liter the ground around the man as he downs Uruk after Uruk, his sword raking through flesh and bone as if they were made of butter. Despite the distance between us, his stormy eyes are wuick to seek me out amongst the carnage. We share a meaningful look, and Boromir dips his head to me.

"Kill her!"

The terrible voice sounds from behind me. Spinning on heel, my eyes are met with the sight of a lone Uruk-hai, standing far up on the hill with a great longbow in hand.

"Kill the she-elf!" the monster bellows. Its yellowed teeth bare in menace as it draws back the bowstring. A single arrow, shining a polished ebony, is knocked and aimed directly at Boromir's chest. The bitterness of reality stabs into my heart as I hear the jarring twang that comes after.

_No._

Before I have a chance to think, my feet are propelling me through the mass of Uruks and out towards Boromir. With a cry of despair I leap out in front of him, hand extended, lips parted to form words I shall never speak, just as the Uruk's arrow slams directly into its target.

A target that was not intended, but a target all the same.

An incredible wave of pain surges through me as the arrow sinks deeply into my shoulder. Its barbed tip scraps against my collarbone before coming to rest inside my muscle. My lips part in a garbled wail as I stumble to the side, all thoughts of battle forgotten. Blood has begun to seep out from the wound in great quantity, dyeing the fabric of my tunic an angry shade of crimson. My vision grows dark and splotchy at the edges.

A nearby Uruk bellows an insult at me, and I am utterly helpless as one of its comrades shoves me to my knees. My cheekbone cracks against a hard treeroot, splitting the soft skin on impact, as I collapse face-first. The end shaft of the arrow snaps off, sending a fresh jolt of agony through my body. Aduial slips free of my grasp and clatters to the ground beside me.

Injured and weak, I can do nothing but cry out in despair as an Uruk reaches down to retrieve my fallen blade. Its fat fingers wrap around the hilt, resting in the same place as mine once did.

"Keira!" Boromir's cry rings in my ears. I just manage to turn my head towards him, trying desperately to regain my bearings. The man's image appears strangely distorted as he desperately works to fend off my attackers. But he is far too late. Another crack of the Uruk's bow sends an arrow plunging straight into Boromir's chest. A gasp of pain escapes his lips, and his body sags forward.

_Get up, Keira. Get up and help him!_

"Boromir," I croak. "Boromir, no." Vision wavering, I press my forehead into the ground before lifting up with my arms. Even that small of an action nearly makes me black out, and I collapse with a muffled cry. My physical options are depleted at best. I cannot heal myself. Not in this state. But I have no other choice. There are no more options.

I have to stand and fight.

Mustering up both courage and strength, I curl my knees up underneath me before rocking back onto my heels. A wave of nausea sweeps over me as I feel blood beginning to pool in my mouth. Looking to Boromir once more, I am met with a sight to behold. Despite his wound, the Gondorian has once again begun to fend of the Uruks. His utter determination gives me the boost I need in order to rise to my feet. The pain following my decision rockets through my entire being, but I do not allow it to affect me.

Then, suddenly, it happens again.

A second arrow plunges into the Boromir's abdomen. The man gives a grunt before falling to his knees. Merry and Pippin watch on, horrorstruck, as their first protector falls prey to the strong bite of the arrow. Their gazes flit then towards my bloody form. One horror to the next. My face contorts in sorrow as I watch the man gulp for air before looking towards the hobbits. Boromir's eyes become drastically clearer as he takes in the sight of them. Then, with a grimace of agony, the man rises once more to fight. The Uruk who shot him snarls in annoyance.

In that moment, I am stricken with an emotion that I have not felt in a very long time. Hatred. Deep and ugly, it boils in my blood and courses through my veins.

"Leave him alone!" I shout. My eyes begin to burn as I extend a hand out to the front of me, watching as tendrils of magic begin to weave in and out between my fingers. But this is no ordinary magic. This magic is not blue like the sea or sky. It is not pure and beautiful as often is the case. No, this magic shines a deep and dreadful gold. A radiant glow transpires beneath my skin, giving me the impression of a living flame. Several Uruks turn round, their ugly brows knitted in confusion. They must've deemed me to no longer be a threat.

What a mistake that was for them.

With a cry of pain and rage I let go of the energy, releasing a jagged shard of lighting that hurdles straight towards them. The bolt crashes directly into one Uruk's chest, and the beast flies backwards a good ten feet before disintegrating into black dust. Its comrades yowl in anguish and fear as they scrabble for cover, only to be swallowed by a plume of orange flame.

"Get back!" I scream at them. "Get back, or I'll do it again!"

Several more Uruks fill in to take the others places, only to meet the same grissly fate. My teeth clench as I fell foe after foe, setting their still corpses alight with fire. But a deep magic is only as strong as the one who wields it, and my powers are failing.

Suddenly, a sharp whizzing sound snaps me out of my rage, and I look up just in time to watch as an arrow comes speeding towards my face. But this time, I am prepared. Eyes narrowed, I raise my hand and halt the object mid-air. Its steely point glimmers only inches away from my face.

My lips curl in a sneer, and the Uruk archer lets out a roar. "You want a fight, beast?" The arrow slowly pivots midair until it is no longer aimed at me, but at my enemy, instead. "You want my blood?" The Uruk-hai surrounding me turn to look at their leader, and Boromir gives a sharp cry as he plunges his sword into yet another beast. He won't last much longer. I have to help him, but to do that, I must first be rid of the creature that threatens his life. The one who spilt both of our blood.

"Keira!" I hear Boromir shout. "Go with the hobbits!"

His words move me to look around towards him. The man kicks back an Uruk before gazing up at me. "Go!" he says again. "While you still—"

Boromir never finishes his sentence.

My lips part in horror as a black arrow flashes down from the hillside before piercing him directly above his heart. The sheer force of the blow brings the brave man to his knees. Blood trickles down from the wound in a lazed stream; blood that signifies my worst fear.

The Son of Gondor's fight is over.

"No," I whisper. The bright aura of magic dissipates around me as I watch the life trickle out of him, one crimson drop at a time. The Uruk-hai seem to sense that their enemy is done for, as they immediately begin charging on ahead of him. Merry and Pippin each give a cry before leaping out in front of them, swinging their swords like mad, only to be slung over the shoulders of two burly Uruks. Small arms scrabble against iron armor as the beasts begin to haul them off.

"Merry!" My scream echoes throughout the forest as I begin to charge after them. "Pippin!"

"Keira!" The latter's cry is muffled slightly. Tears stream out from the corners of my eyes as I try desperately to give chase, despite having lost what little remained of my hope. My feet pound hard against the forest floor, but I know that my efforts are in vain. The Uruk-hai move at unbelievable speed. I would hardly be able to catch up with them even if I were uninjured.

Dejected, I hardly notice when my foot catches on an upturned tree root, sending me tumbling to the ground. The hard impact knocks the breath out of me, and I wince as blood spatters out from my mouth.

"Come back." My head dips down in sorrow as their cries fade away into the distance. "Please come back."

I have failed them. I have broken my promise to keep them safe. Everything I did, every second I spent watching after them, is nothing but the dust of memories. They are gone now, and there is nothing I can do about it.

The sound of hard footsteps meets my ears, startling me from my dark thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye I see a lone Uruk come to stand beside me, its lips spread wide in a grin. "Not so mighty now, are we?" it taunts. The beast gives a hissing laugh before reaching down and taking hold of the back of my neck. A silent scream rises up in my throat as the Uruk picks me up as if I weighed no more than a feather. Holding me out before it, the creature's black gaze bores into me like a hot dagger.

"Perhaps now you'll think before you act…" It pauses. "_Were-rider."_

With a snarl of disgust the Uruk drops me. I fall to the ground without resistance, my legs crumpled uselessly beneath me. Moaning softly, I watch through glazed eyes as the beast shoots one last look at me before bustling off after its comrades. Something bright glints in its hands, and my breath hitches. Aduial. My beautiful Elvish blade, once shining as bright as the sun, glistens now with the grim red sheen of blood. My blood. I hard hardly felt its stinging bite in my already wounded shoulder. The feeling of my flesh being cleaved beneath it was weak compared to the real agony in my heart. The pain of defeat is something that I have felt before, but never like this.

"I'm sorry."

The hoarse whisper can come from only one person. Boromir. The man resides a good distance away from me. I am just able to make out his slouched figure though the sea of black Uruk-hair as they swarm throughout the forest. "I couldn't save them," he continues, his voice thick with sorrow and blood. "I have failed you all."

Somehow, impossibly, I force myself to reply. "You have failed no one," I say. Slowly, I reach out my arm towards him. Despite my body being trampled beneath countless boots, even that slightest of gestures seems to give him reassurance. "You are brave, Boromir…" I gasp in pain as an Uruk kicks me hard in the side. "So…brave."

Several moments later, the swarm has moved onwards, leaving only a single member behind. I watch through hate-filled eyes as the Uruk archer steps up to face the man, its painted face crinkled with malcontent. The black warbow, harbinger of Boromir's cruel fate, glints wickedly in the beast's hand as it knocks a fourth and final arrow.

A hard knot forms in my throat as I meet his gaze once more. Tears stream down my cheeks while blood trickles from the corner of Boromir's mouth.

_Whatever happens, _I whisper to his mind. _Know that I am glad to have fought with you._

The Uruk-hair snarls, aiming the arrow directly at the Gondorian's chest. Boromir looks up at the beast, his face pale and balmy. He has begun to wheeze for air. The ghastly creature draws back hard on the bowstring, preparing to end its challenger once and for all.

Then, just as the Uruk has taken him in its sights, a warbled howl pierces through the air. Not a moment latter, Aragorn leaps out from the foliage and tackles the creature. Man and Uruk tumble to the ground, the later with a roar of rage. The beast parries his blows with ease before hurdling him into a nearby tree. I wince as the Ranger's body contacts the wood with a solid thump. Aragorn fumbles to his feet, only to be faced with the sight of a great black shield hurdling towards him. The iron slab nearly missies cutting his head off and instead pins his neck against the trunk. The man struggles to free himself as the Uruk strides towards him, fangs bared.

Finally, Aragorn manages to slip out of the shield's confines. He is not a moment too soon, as the Uruk swings its sword directly where his head was. But instead of meeting with flesh, the blade embeds itself deeply into the wooden tree trunk. The creature snarls in annoyance as it works to free the weapon. Using the Uruk's distraction to his advantage, Aragorn rolls out from beneath the beast in order to cut at its legs. The monster hisses and aims a stab at him, but the Ranger dodges.

With nimble fingers Aragorn unsheathes one of the Uruk's daggers before stabbing it hard into the creature's thigh. A yowl of pain gurgles up in its throat, and the Uruk grabs hold of the man's shoulders before hurling him a good ten feet down the hill. The Ranger slams hard into the ground, scrabbling for air as his enemy takes hold of the discarded dagger. I watch in disgust as it draws its tongue along the blade before chucking it at Aragorn. The man raises his own sword in order to swipe the weapon aside, creating a metal clang that rattles in my ears. The Uruk growls, reaching down to pick up its dark blade as Aragorn begins to advance on it. There is a fiery gleam in his eye, the same look he had in Moria.

The heir of Isildur is prepared to finish what he started.

Giving a yell, Aragorn bears down upon the Uruk. The creature is barely able to pary his blows as the man pushes it back down the hill. It takes only a few moments for the Uruk to let down its guard. Its sword hand falters for a half-second, but that is all it takes for Aragorn to see his chance. The man swipes the creature's blade out of its hands before cleaving its arm off in one fell swipe. He then plunges his sword deep into the beast's stomach. Snarling, the Uruk grabs hold of the blade and pulls it further into its body. Black blood dribbles down from the creature's mouth. Then, after brief tug-of-war, Aragorn wrenches out the sword before promptly decapitating his foe. The Urk's body crumples to the ground, twitching and writhing.

_It's over. It's finally over._

Aragorn stumbles a bit as he turns to look upon the countless Uruk-hai corpses. The Ranger's gaze flickers further down the hill before coming to rest on Boromir. A look of horror crosses his face, and the man wastes no time to rush over to his fallen friend.

"They took the little ones," Boromir gasps out as Aragorn kneels down beside him.

"Lie still," he says softly. The Ranger surveys his wounds through sad eyes. He knows just as good as I do that there is nothing to be done for him.

"Frodo." The Gondorian leans up ever so slightly, blood dribbling from his mouth. "Where is Frodo?"

There is a short pause before Aragorn replies. "I let Frodo go."

My heart breaks upon hearing his words. Frodo. Innocent, wide-eyed Frodo has chosen the path of solitude. I image him walking alone through the forest, dreading what lies ahead of him. A fresh wave of tears blur my vision as pain brings me back to the bitterness of reality.

"Then you did what I could not." Boromir's voice has begun to falter as places a hand on his comrade's neck. "I tried to take the Ring from him."

Aragorn gazes down at him sadly, and I can just make out the tears glistening in his eyes. "The Ring is beyond our reach now," he says.

"Forgive me. I did not see. I have failed you all."

"No, Boromir," the Ranger whispers. "You fought bravely, and have kept your honor." Aragorn glances down at the man's ravaged body, his hands lowered in preparation to remove one of the three arrows that pierce him.

"Leave it!" cries the Gondorian, then softer. "It is over. The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness." He pauses, his voice straining. "And my city to ruin."

Aragorn grips hard onto Boromir's arm. "I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall." A single tear rolls down his cheek. "Nor our people fail."

"Our people." Boromir manages the weakest of smiles before wincing suddenly, as if recalling something painful. "Keira," he says, then louder. "Go to her. I know not how she fares, but her wounds are many."

Aragorn looks over his shoulder. His green eyes flit about urgently before coming to rest on my still form. His face contorts painfully, and he moves to stand.

"No." My voice is hoarse and ragged, but he hears it nonetheless. "Stay." Aragorn turns back towards Boromir, his shoulders hunched in newfound despair. Then, slowly, the Ranger reaches down to take hold of the man's sword. He then places it upon Boromir's chest, where it seems to shine all the new.

It is in that moment when a lithe shape comes to stand in the farthest reaches of my vision. At first it appears blurry and unfocused, but after a moment the figure bleeds into clarity. My heart leaps as I take in the tall form of Legolas. He gazes down upon the scene before him, a look of deep sorrow in his eyes. Gimli comes to stand behind the Elf, head bowed in reverence.

"Legolas." My voice is barely above a whisper, but I well know the keenness of Elven ears. If I know him at all, he will hear me. "Legolas." The Prince frowns slightly and turns his head towards me. Gimli follows suit, and two sets of eyes come to rest upon the cherry blood staining the ground in front of me, then to the bodies of Uruks piled up around it. After a moment of searching, Legolas's blue gaze seeks me out among the carnage.

"Keira," he breathes. His fair face takes on a look of unmasked horror as he rushes to my side. Gentle hands take hold of my own as Legolas kneels down before me, knuckled marked with blood. "What have they done to you?"

"I…tired… to save them," I wheeze. "They were… taken."

"Keira," Legolas whispers once more. I sigh softly as his hand travels up to stroke my matted hair. The other brushes bits of dirt from my cheek. "There was nothing you could do," he says.

I cough once, groaning as a warm ache spreads through my lungs. "Where is Carca? I heard his… his footsteps. He was following me."

Legolas's hand falters. "I have not seen him since the battle at the Seat."

A clammy feeling washes over me as I remember the howl that sounded shortly before Aragorn's arrival. There is no doubt that it was Carca's voice, but I realize now that it was not a battle cry that I heard. It was a plea for aid. If I had been well enough to decipher it, perhaps I might have been able to help him.

Head spinning, it takes all I have within me not to fall into unconsciousness.

_Carca, where are you?_

Legolas gently slips his arms around my knees and back before rising to his feet. Blood dribbles out from my nose and down onto my lips as I crane my neck to look at him.

"Boromir…" A single tear streaks down my cheek. "Is he…?"

"Hush," sooths the Elf. "Save your strength." His body shields my smaller form against the bitter cold, and I allow myself to sag against him. Legolas holds me tightly as he makes his way back towards Gimli. I hear the dwarf give a sad whisper of, "Lass," as he teeters over to meet us. His hazel eyes are dropped with sorrow.

"Be at peace…Son of Gondor." It is Aragorn's voice. I look over and watch as the Ranger plants a kiss atop Boromir's brow before rising to his feet. The fair-haired Gondorian has at last fallen silent, his eyes open yet unseeing. A lump forms in my throat as I take in the paleness of his face. The cherry pigment staining his lips. I press my forehead against Legolas's jaw.

"Do not blame yourself for Boromir's fate," the Prince whispers. "It was sealed long ago."

"I thought he was weak," I say. "I thought he was without honor. But I was terribly wrong." A sob racks through my body, shaking us both. "Let me say goodbye to him."

"Keira, you are in no state to…"

"Do it." My tone dismisses any hopes he had of arguing. Grudgingly, Legolas bears me over to the man before setting me down beside him. Boromir's sightless eyes stare upwards into the treetops, and I reach out to place a hand atop his own.

"I'm sorry… that I did not come sooner," I say shakily. "I treated you so poorly during the time in which we were in company with each other. You only ever wished to keep Frodo safe, but the Ring had other plans." Sighing, I close my eyes. "Your life was worth so much more than you deemed it to be. I can only pray that the afterlife is kinder to you than the one in which you lie now." Of course, there is no response. Boromir's life is long gone, taken away to some distance place where he will live out the years in peace. Blinking away tears, I reach out and brush his eyelids closed. "I will avenge your death, Boromir of Gondor. You will be remembered."

With that I fall into silence. Legolas crouches down beside me, his gentle eyes derived of their normal steel.

"It is time," the Prince says. "Your wounds need cleansing."

"How could I let this happen?" I turn to look at the Prince, tears falling freely down my cheeks. "I lost Carca and the cousins, and now Boromir is dead. All because I could not protect them when they needed me most."

Legolas blinks with understanding. "There was nothing to be done. If you hadn't left us when you did, Boromir would have died a much darker death. You gave him what he needed most."

I frown. "What?"

There is a moment of silence before Legolas reaches out to take me in his arms. "A friend, Keira. You gave him a friend."

* * *

><p>The sky is grey when we cast Boromir's canoe into the River. The Gondorian's still body lies within it, his sword grasped tightly in his cold hands. The Horn of Gondor lies beside him, cleaved in two by an Uruk's blade, along with the many weapons of his enemies. Aragorn and the others had insisted upon gathering the swords and daggers of the fallen Uruks to pay tribute to the brave man's efforts.<p>

The four of us now stand upon the Anduin's shoreline. Aragorn's clear voice pierces through the veil of silence in the form of a lament. Beautiful and pure, it drifts on through the air, echoing in all corners of the forest. Legolas and I listen in silence while Gimi leans upon his axe, brow drooped in sorrow.

While Aragorn's words work to sooth the memories of my traumatic afternoon, my mind is still spinning with the thoughts of one individual in particular. Carca. My companion is still nowhere to be found. We scoured the forest for any signs of him and found nothing. Not even so much as a patch of fure. Aragorn theorizes that the Uruks overpowered him shortly after I departed to aid Boromir. And, being that the beasts chose to capture Merry and Pippin, I can only assume that they took him along, as well. And with the sunset soon upon us, we will soon have no choice but to continue on without him.

_Carca._

_Carca, are you there?_

_Please, Carca. Can you hear me?_

My mind calls go answered. Dejected, I allow my head to fall as I pinch the bridge of my nose. It has hardly been three months since our departure of Rivendell, and I have already lost Carca twice. But this time, it is not just cave walls separating us. It is miles of miles of rough and hilly terrain, not to mention the looming threat of the Lypta and Ringwraiths. While I can still feel the Breyta's presence in my head, it is drastically weaker. He is alive, but most likely unconscious. There will be no way of contacting him until he wakens.

And I am not certain when that will be.

As if sensing my silent distress, Legolas sidles closer to me. His shoulder presses up against my own, and I lean into him without hesitation. My eyes fall closed as I savor the feeling of his body next to my own. Legolas's cheek comes to rest upon the top of my head, a gesture that does well to comfort us both. We are grieving for reasons both different and the same. Although the Prince's bond with Carca and the hobbits is not nearly as strong as my own, his friendship with Boromir was. Elves react differently to death than humans do. They don't often witness it in their lifetimes, save during battle. To see a person dear to them slain in such a gruesome matter would be heartbreaking and at the same time intriguing. The very thought of passing into a second life so early is foreign to them. Legolas is no exception.

Moaning softly, I allow my body to curl tighter into the Elf's. A sharp spasm of pain rockets out from my shoulder, serving as a bitter remainder of my encounter with the Uruks. My wounds still ache despite having been cleaned and dressed, but the true agony at hand is not physical. It is in my very soul. I have lost my companion, I have lost my friends. I have even lost my beloved sword.

But with the steady heartbeat of Legolas in one ear and the voice of Aragorn in the other, I am able to let some of it go.

_'__Have you seen Borormir the Tall by moon or by starlight?_

_I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey;_

_I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed away_

_Into the shadows of the North. I saw him then no more._

_The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor_

_O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar_

_But you came not from the empty lands where no men are.'_

When at last the Ranger falls to silence, another voice takes his place. For a short moment I am too wrapped up in my own thoughts to notice, but then it hits me. The voice belongs to Legolas. As sweet and flowing as honey, every note vibrates in my bones as the Elven Prince begins a serenade of his own. My arms curl up around Legolas's back as I rest my head against his chest, allowing his words to lull me into a deep and peaceful trance.

_From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones; _

_The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans._

_'__What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve?_

_Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.'_

_'__Ask not of me where he doth dwell – so many bones there lie_

_One the white shores and the dark shores under the stormy sky;_

_So many of passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea._

_Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me!'_

_'__O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seaward road runs south_

_But you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey sea's mouth.'_

After Legolas finishes, the company watches in silence as Boromir's canoe tips over Rauros's edge. Its dark form disappears soundlessly into the mist, leaving not a trace. The only things that remain to remember the man by are his arm guards that were acquired by Aragorn. Dark blood stills stains their surface, but such battle marks do not daunt the Ranger. He strapped them tightly to his arms, where I do not doubt that they will remain for many days to come.

Perhaps the brave man of Gondor shall be a peace knowing that his memory will carry on with us until the very end.

"That was beautiful," I whisper to Legolas. "When do you learn to sing like that?"

"I have all my life," he replies. "All woodland Elves are taught to sing from an early age." A cold gust of wind snakes its way beneath my tunic, and I shiver violently. Legolas looks down at me, concern bright in his eyes, before wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me closer to him. "Keira, I shall never wish to see you in such pain again. If it is your will, I take it now upon myself to care for you during your companion's…" He searches for a word. "…leave."

My heart pangs as I think of Carca and what horrors may lie ahead of him. Orcs are known for their terrible means of torture. Uruks will surely be no different. I look up at Legolas and allow his familiar face to bring me back from the darkness of my mind.

"My wounds will heal in time, mellon nin," I say. "As will my heart. But until then, your efforts will be appreciated."

We share a smile before gazing out towards the River. A lone boat rests upon the Eastern Shore, having belonged to Frodo and Sam moments before they departed into the forest. It appears that the Ringbearer will not be alone, after all. I find myself being grateful for Samwise Gamgee. If not for his watchful eye, Frodo would be going without aid. Such a journey cannot be taken by a single person. Even Carca would admit that.  
>"They must be far away now," I say. "Frodo and Sam. Mordor lies upon our very doorstep, it seems."<p>

"You are right." Legolas stiffens considerably, as if having remembered something. "We must hurry if we are to reach them in time." He pulls away from me and makes for the boats.

"Legolas." My voice seems to halt him in place. Slowly, the Elf turns around to look at me. His eyes are pinched in sad understanding as I shake my head.

"You mean not to follow them?" he says to Aragorn. The Ranger sighs as he tightens his vambraces. Or should I say, Boromir's vambraces. He took them from the Gondorian's body in order to pay tribute to his fallen friend.

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," he replies darkly.

"Then it has all been in vain." Legolas and I turn to watch as Gimli comes to stand beside us. "The Fellowship has failed."

Both Elf and dwarf step up to the man, their faces somber. Unsure of what to do, I come to stand in between them. Without Carca by my side, I feel as though a part of me has gone away. Like I am no longer whole.

I may be the Were-rider, but what is a Rider without her Bond?

"Not if we hold true to each other," Aragorn says. "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death, nor will we forsake Carca at his time of great need. Not while we have strength left." The Ranger steps back to sheath his dagger. "We travel light…" He smirks. "Let's hunt some Orc."

With that Aragorn races off into the forest. Gimli gives a shout of, "Yes!" before both he and Legolas rush after him. I move to follow, but am halted by a strange tingling sensation on the back of my neck. Like something is watching me. Frowning, I look over my shoulder and am met with a familiar sight.

The white stag stands upon the opposite Riverbank, its brilliant coat glistening gold in the sunlight. My eyes widen as the creature bends down to look at the beached canoe, then glances back towards me. Much to my surprise, I find a hint of concern in its black eyes.

_Were-rider._

The billowy voice seems to transpire all around me. My lips part in astonishment as an ethereal glow emanates from the stag's unblemished hide.

"Was that you?" I whisper aloud.

_He is coming, Were-rider. _The animal blinks once. _The Darkness is upon us all._

"What are you?" I take a step forward. "_Who _are you?"

_Beware the prophecy._

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the white stag vanishes. Leaves swirl about where the creature once stood, and I feel a shudder rack its way up my spine.

"Keira?"

Whipping around, I am met with the sight of Legolas gazing at me from within the forest. "Are you well?"

"Yes," I say, "Yes, I am quite fine."

"Then why have you not followed after us?"

I force a smile. "I have my reasons."

The Elf watches me for a moment. "Is it your wounds?" he inquires.

"Far from it. They do not pain me as they once did."

Legolas blinks once. "Come on, then," he says, extending a hand. "Aragorn will not falter."

Gathering my courage, I jog out to him before clasping hold of his wrist. The Prince's eyes shine as bright as diamonds as he gazes down at me.

"Tell me, Keira. What is it that troubles you?"

"It's…I lost my sword." Not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth. "An Uruk took it."

"Then it's a good thing that I brought these." Legolas lifts up the base of his tunic, revealing the glimmering silver forms of twin Elvish long blades. I clasp a hand over my mouth in shock.

"I—I thought they were with Carca. I put them in the saddle this morning!"

"I offered to take them not long after your departure." The Elf grabs the blades before holding them out to me. "For safe keeping."

I slide my hands beneath his, stroking his knuckles with my fingertips, before allowing him to place the knives in my upturned palm. Eyes swollen with tears, I sheath the silver blades beneath my belt loop.

"Oh Legolas," I whisper. "Thank you. A hundred times, thank you."

Smiling softly, Legolas nods up ahead. "Let us go now, mellon nin. There are others in need of rescue."

A newfound hope begins to swell up within me. Casting one last look at the Riverbank, I take hold of the Prince's hand. Our fingers twine together, bound in a grip as strong as iron.

And with the sun at our backs and the world of night ahead, we run

* * *

><p><em>So it came to pass that as the last rays of the sun cascaded down through the treetops, the brave Hunters began their pursuit of the Uruk-hai. Upon the sandy banks of the River Anduin, their Fellowship had been broken. Boromir was lost to the steely bite of Uruk arrows. Frodo and Sam had set off towards the dark land, tasked to destroy that which had befallen their company. Carca and the remaining hobbits were captured by the hard hands of the enemy.<em>

_Yet there were four still remaining that held strong to hope. Where the road ahead would lead them, none could tell. But with the eyes of Elves to lead them by day and the star of Elendial to guide them at night, one thing was for certain._

_Middle Earth would never be the same again._

* * *

><p><strong>*Moriarty voice* Did you miss me?<strong>

**Oh my gosh, was November hectic! I had my wisdom teeth extracted, accomplished tryouts for my volleyball team, and managed to get sick not once, not twice, but THREE FREAKING TIMES. Ugh! I can only pray that December is kinder to me!**

**But hey, look on the bright side... BOTFA COMES OUT IN LESS THAN TWO WEEKS! I know for some of you its a lot sooner than that, so while y'all are watching it, I'll be stuck waiting in my bedroom and wallowing in Fanfiction drafts until the 17th. Growl. It's going to be well worth the wait, though!**

**Please forgive me for the longgggg wait. I have finals to study for and projects to finish, so bear with me until the holidays!**

**Thank you all for sticking with me! ****xx**

**-PC**


	27. Reborn

***tentatively emerges from hobbit hole* Uh... hi?**

* * *

><p><em>The only thing he saw was the Darkness.<em>

_It engulfed him on all sides. Knawing, prying, tearing at his body. Long fingers, as hard and cold as steel, dug mercilessly into his flesh. The pain blinded his eyes and ached in his chest. He could not see the enemies that approached him. The yowling beasts that wounded him over and over again. But then there was an image. Faint at first, then clearer. A great red eye was shining down before him, its terrible gaze wreathed in flame. All around him he could hear his attackers squeals and screams as the Eye drifted towards him. Then, in the darkest and most evil of tongues, it spoke._

_There is no life, __echoed the Eye. __Only death prevails here._

_His head spun wildly at the aparation's words, yet there was nothing he could do. The enemy had him surrounded. There would be no escape. _

_The void will take her. She will be no more. __Far off in the distance, he could hear a roar. Like a thousand tolling bells it rattled his body and ground into his ears. Unbearable. Agonizing. The sound of dragon-speech crackled through the constricting air as he fought to rid himself of the blazing Eye._

Be… gone._ His words were hollow, even to his own hearing. _

_Never._

_There was a bright flash of light, then a familiar face came into view. Green eyes, as sharp as emerald daggers, bored into his very soul. They framed a lightly-tanned face with high cheekbones, arched ebony eyebrows, and a slender mouth. Black hair ruffled about her shoulders as she glowered down at him, sword in hand._

_His heart skipped. He would know that face anywhere. _

You are a fool, _she hissed. _Do not deny the Master's power.

No. No, it cannot be.

_A grin stretches at her lips. _Oh, but it can, dear companion. _She hoists up her sword, allowing the pale metal to gleam orange beneath the fire Eye's gaze. _It can.

_And then there was silence._

* * *

><p><em>Carca!<em>

My mind call viberates down from the hillside and out into the night. For a moment I sit in silence, listening as it fades away without an answer. It is pointless. Even a fool would know that. But still I refuse to give up; refuse to let the reality of my companion's capture sink deeper into my mind. How could I? It was by my own stupidity and carelessness that he had wound up in such a dire position.

_Carca!_ The distant gawking of a crow is all I get in response. Dejected, I sink down onto my knees and proceed to knaw on my lower lip. "Where are you, my friend? Where have they taken you?"

Something warm strokes across my bare shoulder. The fabric of my tunic had been torn so badly during the Uruk fight that I was forced to rip the sleeve off altogether, exposing the skin beneath. I lean to the side, giving a heavy breath as my temple presses into Legolas's thigh.

"You shouldn't exhaust yourself," he says in a soothing tone. "Come, join us by the fire. You are as chill as ice."

"I feel neither tired nor cold." I crane my neck up to look at him. "But your offer does sound quite appealing."

Legolas's smile does not reach his eyes. "Aragorn and Gimli have begun to worry for you. Your behavior of late is peculiar to say the least."

"I have lost my friends and my Bond." Rising to my feet, I shoot him a hard look. "Do not mistake my seclusion for self-pity. I will not sit idly while they are being taken to heaven knows what dark place. If we do not get to them soon, the Dark Lord will order them all to be killed."

The Elf Prince observes me for a moment, blue gaze cool and calculated. "Not if he suspects one of them to harbor the Ring."

My mouth falls agape. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Sauron is sure to know that the Ring is in possession of one of the Halflings, but he is not certain who. Evil doers such as him will take no chances to obtain what it is they seek." Legolas sighs as we make our way back towards the others. "But for now, I suspect that our companions will be left alone. The Uruks would dare not defy their Master." The crackling fire casts dark shadows beneath his cheekbones. "That is all the reassurance I can give you."

"I do not ask for reassurance." My hard answer brings our conversation to a grinding halt. From then on we approach Gimli and Aragorn in silence, neither one certain of what to say.

But just as I am about to take a seat next to the Ranger, Legolas turns from me and begins to stride towards the far hillside.

"Where are you going?" I inquire.

The Elf looks over his shoulder, eyes glinting. "To meditate," is all he says.

Frowning, I force myself to look away as Legolas disappears into the night. Aragorn gives me a warm smile as he tends to the fire.

"Come to join us?" he inquires. Kneeling down beside him, I force a smile.

"Perhaps," I say. My attempt at humor does nothing to lighten the mood, however, and my shoulders hunch forward in sorrow. I have upset Legolas. I didn't mean to, of course. But my worry for Carca and the hobbits has made me easily provoked and irritable. It was only a matter of time before I took that out on him.

"Carca's presence has grown fainter," I say blandly. "How much distance is between us and the Uruks?"

"Many leagues," replies Aragorn, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "I fear we have several more days of running ahead of us."

A soft groan escapes my lips. Our trek has lasted no more than a day, yet already my legs have begun to feel weak. Unlike Aragorn and Legolas, I have not had to rely upon swiftness of foot to keep me going. After all, I do have a Breyta at my disposal. But Carca is gone now, taken away by the Uruk-hai. I am on my own, now.

"How fares your shoulder, lass?" I look to where Gimli resides opposite the fire. He has taken to sharpening his ax, sending sparks raining down onto the grass.

I shrug. "Well enough. My powers have yet to come back to me, but it will not be long now. Soon the magic will heal my wounds completely." Something tugs at my heart. It feels like guilt. I look out towards the hillside, mouth pulled tight in regret. Yes, Legolas is most definitely upset. I spoke so harshly to him. There was so much anger and pain inside of me, so much sorrow, that I became overwhelmed. But that is no excuse to push my dear friend away. He is all I have left.

"Forgive me," I say, rising to my feet. "But there is something I must do."

Aragorn blinks understandingly. "You have a good heart, my lady."

Smiling down at him, I put aside my worries before jogging out towards the hill. At first I see nothing but darkness. The moon is concealed behind a great wall of clouds, providing but a sliver of light to guide me by. But at long last, my eyes catch sight of Legolas's silhouette, barely visible against the midnight skyline. The only thing revealing his presence is the faint platinum glint of his hair and the shimmering transcendence of his cloak. My lips part slightly as I take in his ethereal presence. How on earth could I ever consider myself his equal? The Elven Prince is the very definition of grace and elegance and power. I am merely a shadow to one so great as he.

For once in what seems like forever, I am rendered speechless. Suddenly afraid, I take a shaky step backwards, then another.

"I know you're there."

His voice is as sharp as a double-edged sword, freezing me in place with a grip so strong that I cannot bear to resist it. The moonlight penetrates alas through the clouds, illuminating Legolas's smooth features as he turns to look at me. My blood turns cold as I observe his emotionless face. Have I disturbed him in some way?

But just as I am about to retreat back to the others, I catch onto a mischievous twinkle in his sapphire eyes. "Come now, don't look so frightened," he says.

I blink. "I… I came to apologize."

"Whatever for?"

"I was in a most wretched state of being when last we spoke." Dry grass crunches beneath my feet as I come to stand next to the Elf. A pleasant aura seems to radiate off of him, sending shivers down my spine. "I should not have been so rash with my words, and for that I am sorry."

Much to my surprise and amusement, Legolas laughs. "You worry too much, mellon nin."

"I saw in your eyes that my words stung you," I say, grabbing hold of his elbow. "Why else would you have given me the upper hand?"

"I did no such thing." Legolas looks at me strongly. "As I have said many times before, you do not need to ask my forgiveness, for there is nothing to forgive."

A sigh escapes my lips, followed shortly by a disbelieving chuckle. "Sometimes I wonder if you were simply born with such good manners, or had them hammered into your skull as an infant."

"A mixture of both, I suppose. From as early on as I can remember my father trained me on how to behave in a regal manner. Although I dare say it did not always work."

"Your father taught you?" I laugh again. "Now that is surprising. He must've seen to it that you were as stiff as a washing board."

Legolas gives the lowest of groans. "I do not deny that many of his lessons were… taxing. Both physically and emotionally."  
>"You think that was bad? Try blacksmithing for a change! My father forced me to work at the weapons shop for a year. I still have calluses from it."<p>

"Isn't that a job more suited for men?" Legolas asks. I rub my knuckles absentmindedly.

"Perhaps, but most boys my age were being trained for combat. They didn't have time to forge their own items of warfare, and thus I took it upon myself to save them the trouble."

"I'm sure they appreciated your efforts."

I snort. "If showing appreciation can be displayed by pelting stones and apples at me, then I suppose that they were extremely grateful."

The Prince's brow furrows severely, and a look of anger crosses over his features. "Men can be so cruel. I wish I had met you sooner, if only to rid you of such treatment."

I cannot bring myself to give a reply, and Legolas does not press me for one. His kind words have brought a blush to my cheeks. Strange, considering how dark the past two days have been, that we are still able to enjoy the company of one another. But even the Prince has no power to seal the gaping void that lies within my heart. A void that can only be filled with one thing, and one thing alone. A Bond. And right now, he is beyond my reach.

_Can you see what I see, Carca? _I whisper silently, gazing up at the night sky. _Can you see the stars? Can you hear the whispers of the wind? Can you feel the last of winter's chill prickling at your skin?_

The lonesome cries of a coyote sound in the distance. My gaze turns down solemnly, and I place a hand on Legolas's shoulder. "I go to join the others." My eyes flit to his. "Will you come?"

"I appreciate your offer, but my place is with the stars tonight." Upon noting my worried expression, the Prince gives a wry smirk. "Do not fret over me."

"I would not call it fretting." I inch my palm up to rest on his cheek. "I simply want to know if you are alright. It feels as though you never rest at all."

"Elves do not require the same sleep as humans do."  
>"I know, but I can't help but wonder if something is amiss." I smile briefly. "You are my friend, after all. It is only right that I look out for you."<p>

His eyes twinkle in the pale starlight. "If you are so concerned with my wellbeing, perhaps you should join me in my vigil."

I look at him disbelievingly. "But… I thought you wanted seclusion? Wasn't that the reason you came here?"

"I came here to better see the stars." Legolas gives a sigh as he sinks down to his knees. I follow suit. "But it would be far better to share their spectacle with another soul, particularly one so dear to me."

An even fiercer blush comes over my cheeks, though I know not why. I wrap my arms around my knees and gaze up towards the night sky. "Why are they so special to you?" I inquire. "The stars?"

"Light is sacred to the Elves," Legolas says softly. "But the marvel of the stars is something beyond us all." A smile graces his lips. "A friend of mine once said that they are like memory. Precious and pure to all who behold them."

"What friend would that be?"

The smile vanishes. "Her name has not been spoken in a thrice decade. She was a wood-elf such as I, but far younger. My father took her in when she was but a child, after her parents were killed by Orcs." The Prince's eyes grow distant, as if recalling something far in the past. "She was but 600 years old when she sailed to the Undying Lands, consumed by pain and suffering."

A deep sadness grips hold of my heart, and I reach out to touch his forearm. "I'm sorry. I should not have asked."

"It was the Battle that broke her," he continues. "The Battle of the Five Armies. She had… feelings for one of the dwarves in Thorin's company. When Azog's vile spawn cut him down before her eyes, I feared that she would die of heartbreak.

"But it was not so. It had barely been a day since I departed for the Dunedain when I was given word that she had left." Regret twists at his features. "I loved her like a sister."

I watch on, wordless in my sorrow, as he bows his head. "A wise soul once told me not to dwell on what has already come to pass, but on what lies ahead," I say. "Your friend is at peace now."

Legolas glances over at me. His blue eyes glitter with an unreadable emotion. "Yes," he says distantly. "Yes, I suppose she is." Slowly, I lean to the side until my temple is pressing against his cheekbone. My heart gives a jolted stutter as his soft hair skirts against my lips.

"La fael, hir vuin." I breathe in the warm smell of him before rising to my feet. "But I am tired. As much as I would like to, I cannot join you in your vigil."

The Prince gives the softest of laughs. "I thought you might say that, for I, too, have grown weary." He blinks up at me. "Go and sleep if that is your wish. I will keep watch for him."

I do not need a name to know of whom Legolas speaks. "Thank you," I whisper. My fingers trail fleetingly across his pointed ear.

"Losto vae," he replies.

When at last I take my leave, the last memory I have is of his eyes, bold and brilliant, gazing up into my own as if it were not the heavens he yearned to behold, but me instead.

* * *

><p>"Aragorn, look there!"<p>

I extend a finger out before me. Admist the sea of golden-tan grass that stretches out before us, something odd has caught my eye. The Ranger gives a queer look as he strides over to the mysterious object. I watch on, head tilted curiously, as he bends down and takes it in hand. A bright flash of green glints down from the object's surface, followed by a wink of silver.

Aragorn twiddles it in his hand before breathing out, "Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall."

There is a soft crunch as Legolas strides up beside him. "They may yet be alive."

"Less than a day ahead of us. Come."

My eyes widen as Aragorn ushers us on. "You think they meant for us to find it?"

"I am certain," he says. "Hobbits are clever creatures. We may soon find evidence of a further trail." Aragorn shoots me a rare half-smile. "You have keen eyes, Keira."

"Come, Gimli!" cries Legolas. "We're gaining on them."

No sooner has the Elf spoken than I catch sight of a robust figure tumbling out from behind a cluster of boulders. A smile stretches across my lips as I jog over to him.

"Having troubles, my friend?" I inquire, helping the dwarf to his feet. Gimli gives a muffled grunt.

"I'm wasted at cross-country," he wheezes out. "We dwarves are natural sprinters. Very dangerous over short distances."

I fail to conceal a laugh. "I am not in the fittest of shapes either, master dwarf."  
>"You're quick enough to keep pace with them!" Gimli exclaims, gesturing to the two shapes ahead of us.<p>

"Perhaps I am…" My gaze winks towards Gimli. "But only over short distances."

After another minute or so of tireless sprinting, we arrive upon the brow of the hill. It overlooks the entirety of the grasslands before it, and my heart drops upon seeing the great distance we have yet to cross.

"Rohan," says Aragorn. "Home of the Horse-lords. There's something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures. Sets its will against us."

"It is no work of Men," I say, looking to the Ranger. "Nor is it a fell deed of the Lypta. Sauron is far from here, yet I sense a presence not unlike his."

A flash of green and gold blurs by me, and I glance over to see Legolas rushing up ahead of us. His posture is tense as he scours the land below.

Aragorn steps forward. "Legolas! What do your elf eyes see?"

"The Uruks turn northeast," he says. "They're taking the hobbits to Isenguard!"

Fire flames to life in Aragorn's eyes. "Saruman," he says spitefully.

"That wicked wizard will pay for what he has done," I hiss out. Anger boils up within me, hot and raging, and I feel the wound on my shoulder begin to ache once more. As I am half-elven, my injuries tend to heal faster than those of regular Men. But without magic at my disposal, they are susceptible to reappearing when my emotions flare.

My hands curl into fists as I work to control the rage flooding through my veins. Legolas looks over his shoulder, brow knit in concern. "Is something wrong, Keira?" he asks.

_Yes, Legolas. Something is very wrong._

"I'm fine."

My answer earns me worried looks from all three of them. I make the Prince's gaze, willing him to understand. Legolas blinks in understanding, his golden hair shining in the sun. "We must keep moving," he says, making towards the horizon. "The Uruks will not falter."

"Nor shall we," replies Aragorn. The Ranger casts a look back at me before following after his friend.

Gimli and I exchange a look of dread. "Well," he says. "We had it comin'. Best to get it over with now."

"Agreed."

And with that we run.

* * *

><p>A rather uneventful day drifts by into the endless wake of equally endless time. Aragorn does not allow any delays. I am nigh able to keep pace with him throughout the course of the afternoon, but it does not take long for my shorter gate to draw me back towards Gimli. None of us dare to speak very often. The very air of Rohan is rigid with tension. The realization that Saruman is the one who ordered the hobbits' capture has put all of us on edge. Not only has the wizard captured our friends, but he also gave the command for the Uruks to kill whatever—or whoever—they came across. Boromir was no exception.<p>

We continue our trek long after sunset, stopping only when our legs can bear us no more.

"We will rest here for the night," announces Aragorn at last. He barely sounds winded despite having had next to no break from his pursuit. Drawing in a labored breath, I pull a face. It has taken all I have within me not to double over with exhaustion. Instead, I settle with resting my hands on my knees.

"Can I… be of… any use?" I wheeze out. Legolas, having been preoccupied with matters of his own, whips round towards me. There is a curious gleam tucked away beneath his blue gaze. His lips part, no doubt to inquire after my winded voice, but I silence him with a brief wave.

"Don't even think about it." I smooth a strand of damp hair back from my forehead. The twin braids plaited above my ears have slowly begun to unravel, leaving instead matted ebony clumps. Gimli gives a low growl as he paces over to me. The dwarf's approach would have been quite silent had it not been for his heavy exhales and grumbled complaints. I am not the only who dreads running.

"Ridiculous!" he says gruffly. "Two days we've been scurrying about these grasslands, and not one time has that dratted elf prince so much as batted an eye!"

I snort with amusement. "He's an Elf, Gimli. What did you expect?"

The dwarf gives a rather menacing sneer. "Always in a competition, it seems. What I wouldn't give to acquaint that pretty face of his with my axe."

"You don't mean that."

"Don't doubt it, lass." Gimli shoots me a wink. "Best be keepin' an eye on him." With that the dwarf plods off towards Aragorn, who had just begun to retrieve our meek supply of lembas bread. I shake my head at him before shifting my gaze towards Legolas. Much to my surprise, the Prince is already looking at me.  
>"Conspiring against us, are we?" he says, swiping his white knives across his tunic. I roll my eyes as I make my way over to him.<p>

"Wouldn't you like to know," I snip back. His lip twitches.

"Your wounds should be dressed again. Exerting yourself in this manner has done them no good." A hard expression masks over his features. "Do not think that your pained grimace has escaped my mind."

"Legolas…"

"Do not deny it, Keira." Something fiery ignites in his eyes. "You are not the only soul close to me who suffers in such ways."

His blatant statement earns him a frown. As far as my knowledge goes, Legolas does not have many close friends. And being that Aragorn does not appear to be permanently injured, that leaves only one other person left to inquire of. "You… speak of your father?" I say uneasily.

Legolas blinks at me. "Yes," he mutters.

"But how? I have seen the Elven King with my own eyes. Thranduil is without blemish!"

"At times he may appear as such, but during fits of rage his face…" The Elf trails off slightly. "Changes. An old war wound inflicted by fire drakes that has never fully healed. I fear that it will consume him someday."

"Do not think like that," I say fiercely. "You know full well that your father would never let that happen."

His mouth pulls into a thin line. "You do not know him as I do."

"Legolas!"

Aragorn's sharp call severs off our conversation. I cannot help but be grateful for his interference. The Prince nods to him, but his eyes remain locked on me. "Stay here. I will tend to you shortly."

"If you insist."

* * *

><p>"Blazes of hellfire, Legolas!"<p>

My voice resounds in the form of an unattractive screech that echoes out into the night. The Elf mutters an inaudible apology as he peels of the last of my bandages. The sickening feel of dried blood being ripped from my skin has twisted my stomach into an iron knot. One more yank and I might be sent into a frightening tizzy.

"Is it that bad?" I exclaim, gasping as he tosses aside yet another fistful of sodden cloth.

"Your wounds have reopened," he says. "As was my suspicion. They will bind eventually, but I fear that a great many scars will be left in their wake."

"I stopped caring about scars long ago." I stem a groan as he twists new wrappings around my shoulder. As our supplies have run thin, Legolas was forced to use fabric from my already mangled tunic to compensate. It is not the most comfortable of alternatives, but I will manage nonetheless.

Despite the pain flooding through my body, it is impossible to ignore the chills of pleasure creeping at my skin. Chills brought on the smooth fingertips that dance along my shoulder blade. Even the briefest of touches sends shivers down my spine.

_Thank the Valar that Carca isn't here to see this. _

"That should hold you," Legolas says with finality. He gives one last tug at the bandages. Black shards fan out from the edges of my vision as pain seems to explode out of every cell in my body. I give a gasp of pain.

"This should not… hurt so much," I pant out. "I thought you said the wounds were healing?"

"And they are. But it will take time. Time that I fear has begun to run thin." I glance back at him, shuddering slightly as his gaze bores into me. The depth in his eyes is both terrifying and captivating. "You're pale," he says, tracing his fingers briefly across my cheekbone. "Sleep now, Keira. Recover your strength."

There is a glowing glint of orange in the far corner of my vision, and I look over to see Aragorn prodding at the fire. His eyes are dark, guarding something that I cannot even begin to uncover. Gimli reclines on a boulder a short distance away from him. Loud snores emanate from the dwarf's agape mouth.

"Alright," I saw in response. "Wake me at dawn."  
>"It will be done."<br>And by the time Legolas has gathered his things and retreated towards the fire, I am already asleep.

* * *

><p>"Miserable wretch!"<p>

I watch in numbed horror as the Uruk archer stalks towards me, each step signifying my impending doom. Its yellowed teeth gnash in hatred, splattering its lips with black saliva. Blood dribbles down grotesquely from its dark blade. The skin on my palms has grown raw as I stumble backwards on my hands and feet. Hard ice cuts into me, smearing red across the snow-covered ground. The Uruk gives an imposing bellow as it lifts up its left hand.

And it is in that moment when I see it.

Clutched in the Uruk's fat fingers is the head of Boromir. A wail of heartbreak tears out from my lungs as my sensitive stomach turns itself inside out. The man's eyes are clouded with ivory murk, and his hair is matted into disarray.

"No," I garble out. "No!"

The beast grins at me before dropping the head at my feet. It contacts the ground with a low thump, rolling over several times until the base of its neck brushes against my fingertips. My lips tremble as I gaze down at what remains of my friend.

"You're next," gurgles the Uruk. I set my jaw, preparing for the all-to-familiar bite of metal as the creature raises up its sword. The black tip gleams in the pale sunlight as it comes screaming down towards me.

* * *

><p>I awake from the dream with a hand on my long-knife and sweat dank on my forehead. A dawning sky looms above me, the still-lingering moon half concealed by a batch of clouds. Aragorn and Gimli doze peacefully beside the embers of the fire. Legolas, however, is nowhere to be seen.<p>

Despite the hallucination having vanished, I cannot prevent myself from scrabbling back several feet. It was so real. So brutal. Brought on by my fear for Carca, no doubt. Even the dead have the power to haunt my dreams.

_Carca, where are you? _I think, wrapping my arms around my knees. _Can you hear me?_

The rustling of the tall grass acts as my only reply. Sighing, I tilt my head up towards the sky. A black shape whips back and forth overhead. The familiar sound of shifting feathers gives me a brief glimpse of hope, but it is soon taken away as I realize the animal to be a common crow. The bird cackles loudly as it dips down from the clouds before alighting on a bush several feet away from me. Its night-black eyes gleam with mystery as we observe each other. The crow tilts its head and hops down from its perch.

Something about the animal's outward curiosity brings back a foggy memory of when I first became the Were-rider. Back when Celeb still walked among the living.

_"__Your title will be known to all who come upon you," _she had said. _"Whether they be birds or beasts or Man himself. There will be an air about you that demands respect, though some will not always acknowledge it. Be strong and of good heart, Keira, and the creatures of Arda will recognize their true queen."_

Perhaps that explains the mysterious appearance of the white stag. I've always been told that such creatures are far wiser than their lesser relatives. But the fact that it spoke to me makes me wonder if it really was a stag at all. That, just maybe, there was something else speaking through it.

The crow seems to have noticed my distraction, as it has taken to nipping at my leggings. "I don't have any food, if that's what you're wondering," I tell it. "Go pester someone else."

Cackling softly, the crow cranes its dark neck to look at me. There is no fear in its eyes. A smile graces across my lips as I reach down to run a finger along its head. Its feathers are smooth and cold. "You haven't happened to see a friend of mine, have you?" The ebony bird ruffles slightly as a strong gust of wind blows down through the hillside. I take a gentle hold of its body before pulling it into my lap, shielding the animal from the unpleasant elements. The crow obliges without resistance as it nestles itself against my tunic.

_You have not been abandoned, Carca. I am coming for you._

My lips quiver, but I cannot speak aloud. _I should never have left you. You are my heart and soul. My everything. _

I have hardly finished my thought when an intense wave of dizziness sweeps over me. It feels as though the world itself has begun to careen out of control. I squeeze my eyes shut, hardly caring as a single tear drips free of my lashes and scorches its way down my cheek. What is happening to me? I bring my hands up to cover my ears. Warmth spreads out beneath my fingertips as my nails dig deeply into my scalp. The crow gives a screech of panic and worry.

_K-k…_

His presence is so weak that I hardly notice it.

_K-k-k… _There is a brief silence before it hits me. A flash of utter darkness, then two golden eyes peering out from the shadows of my mind. They are narrowed and filled with pain, but deep in my heart I know them. How could I not?

_Carca. _His dark image flashes before my eyes. A brief glimpse, yet it is enough to send me into a wild panic. _Carca, what happened? Where are you?_

_Too many, _he gasps out. _Far… too many. Cannot escape._

_Carca, what have they done to you?_ My hands travel to Aduial's empty scabbard, then to the long-knives strapped in my belt. The crow recoils slightly. "What have they done?" I cry aloud.

_He knows. _Somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel a stab of pain. _They are to… imprison me…in… _The Breyta's voice fades out.

"Keira, what is wrong?" Legolas's voice. My racket must have alerted him. The crow gives a cackle of alarm before flapping back onto the bush, were it looks on from a distance.

_Where are they taking you, Carca? _No reply comes. _Carca, please! _

"Keira!" the Prince cries, kneeling down before me. His tone is painfully frantic, but his efforts are futile. I am lost to the world. I hardly react as Legolas takes my hands in his own, stroking my knuckles in an effort to calm me.

_Carca, _I whimper. _Tell me where they are taking you._

My mind gives an aching volt of pain as Carca struggles to reply.

_I…love you,_

His words rip into my heart like savage beasts, shredding through its boundaries with claws of steel and iron and everything horrible. Carca's presence is gone not a moment afterwards. The echoes of his voice still resound in my ears as I force myself to meet Legolas's gaze.

"It was him, Legolas. He's calling for me." My voice catches, and I dip my head. "They're hurting him. I… I felt it." A deep ache spread throughout my chest, and I lean forward until my forehead is resting against his shoulder.

Legolas's hand strokes the back of my head. "You speak of Carca?"

I swallow hard. "Yes."

"Do not fear. We will get him back." The Prince holds me against him, strong arms gentle and comforting as they wrap around my shoulders. "He will not suffer for long."

Leaning back to look at him, I note that whatever sympathy once laid in the Elf's gaze is now gone, replaced instead with a hard and terrible anger. "This is the work of Saruman," he says darkly. "We must hurry if we are to catch them in time. I'll wake the others."

I rise to my feet, head spinning so hard that I almost tip over. "They need to rest," I say. "Give them another hour of sleep. The sun will rise soon enough." My knees wobble violently, and were it not for the quick reflexes of Legolas, I would have collapsed then and there. The Elf's arms wrap underneath my own, supporting my weakened body as if I weighed no more than a child.

"You are right," he says, lowering me back down. I make no attempt to resist him as I curl up in his lap, temple resting comfortably against his collarbone. "Your skin is cold, Keira. Are you well?"

"No, Legolas." A shiver racks down my spine. "I will not be well until Carca is safe."

"And safe he shall be, once our paths cross with the Uruks."

"Perhaps, but how long will that take?"

Legolas chuckles softly. "You have changed so much throughout these long years, yet never have you learned to be patient. All things will be yielded to us soon. But for now, let us look till the coming of the morn."

I breathe in his fresh woodland scent and allow my eyes to fall closed.

"So be it."

* * *

><p>Despite the assurances of Legolas, the dawning hour yields no more information on regards to Carca or the hobbits. My feathered visitor appears to have fluttered off sometime during the early morning, leaving nothing but a memory in its wake. During the next few hours spent running, I find myself missing the friendly bird. There is a certain happiness derived from the company of an animal. And while Carca might appear as a wolf in some aspects, he is far from it. The last pet I even came close to owning was Gwestiel, the Elven horse given to me by Legolas. Though the mare is likely to have died of old age, I still find myself thinking of her now and then. Horses have always held a soft spot in my heart. To lose one so dear to me in such an abrupt manner was painful beyond belief. I can only wish that the remainder of her life was spent with a kind and patient Elf who treated her with the amount of respect she deserved.<p>

"Keep breathing!" huffs Gimli. "That's the key. Breathe!" His shorter legs are having to work in double time in order to keep up with Aragorn and Legolas. I, on the other hand, am maintaining a nice pace in front of him.

"They move as if the very whips of their masters were behind them!" exclaims Legolas.

_Perhaps they are, _I think darkly. _It seems as though nothing is out of question now. _

"Aragorn!" My voice rings clear through the midday silence. The Ranger glances back over his shoulder, and I jog up to him. "Aragorn, at the rate those Uruks are running, we'll never catch them in time. Something needs to be done."

"Aye, they are fast," he says. "But if our luck holds, and if we continue to persevere, we will catch them."

"But at what cost? Have you no compassion for Gimli? He will not last as long as you! Already he has begun to fall behind."

For a second, I could swear I see anger spark in Aragorn's eyes. He grips hold of my forearm, slowing us both to a halt. "Do you not wish to find Carca and the hobbits?"

His words baffle me, and for a moment I can do nothing but stare. "Of—of course!" I stammer.

There is a fierce fire blazing in his stormy gaze. "Was it not you who heard Carca's voice in your head, begging you for aid?"

"You misunderstand me," I say, reaching out to place a hand overtop his. "I did not mean to call off our run. I was going to ask you if you would be interested in flying."

He blinks. "Flying?"

A devious smirk plays across my lips. "I have more than enough Breyta to help fulfill the task."

"Everything alright?" Gimli heaves himself over to us.

"Yes, Gimli," I say. I cannot stop myself from shooting Aragorn a pointed look. _Heed my words, Aragorn. The offer will stand until an answer is given._

The Ranger opens his mouth, no doubt to respond, before seemingly second guessing himself. He bends down to observe the Uruk-hai trail. As he does so, I begin to feel slight vibrations underfoot. I frown and shuffle in place. The vibrations continue. Frowning, I turn to Legolas.

"Do you feel that?" I inquire.

I have hardly gotten my question out when the familiar pound of thundering hooves begins to reach my ears. A shrill whinny echoes up from below the crest of the hill. Aragorn looks up, eyes wide.

"Come," he says quickly, ushering us towards a clump of boulders that juts out from the hillside. Legolas and Gimli move to follow, but I have already crouched down in hiding by the time they arrive. The Prince ducks down beside me, his gentle breaths warming the back of my neck.

No sooner have we taken refuge than a massive swarm of horses and horsemen thunder past us. With them comes a strong air of swiftness and power. No fell creature, not even the Uruk-hai, would dare stand in the way of such a company. They storm along in a blur of roan fur and steely armor, leaving the grass trampled in their wake.

Once the group has passed, Aragorn rises up before jogging out towards the hill.

"What in the name of the Valar is he doing?" I gasp. Legolas makes no reply and instead offers me a hand. I take it grudgingly and allow the Elf to hoist me to my feet.

As soon as the three of us emerge out of hiding, I hear Aragorn's sharp voices ring out. "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?"

The effect of his words is imminent. The leader of the horsemen raises his spear, and the group circles round until they are galloping back towards us. Shouting resounds as the horsemen arc around, weaving themselves in and out until they have formed an enclosing circle. Every spear is pointed at us, but I note with a spark of insult that the majority is centered on my three companions. After all, what threat could a woman pose to them?

_If only they knew what I could do._

The lead horseman ushers his steed through the mass of soldiers. A large helm obscures a good portion of his face, but it does not conceal the flaming resent in his blue-green eyes. The man is like a coiled viper, poised to strike at any moment. I meet his gaze in likeness.

"What business do two Elves, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?" he says. His voice is deep and growling. "Speak quickly!"

Gimli leans against his axe. "Give me your name, horsemaster, and I shall give you mine."

The man dismounts his horse and steps up to him. "I would cut off your head, _dwarf, _if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Legolas knocks an arrow at blinding speed. "You would die before your stroke fell!" he hisses. The steely arrowtip, aimed directly at the horseman's head, glints maliciously. The Rohirrim swivel their spears towards him.

"Easy," I whisper, lowering his arm. The Elf tenses as Aragorn steps between the two of them.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he says. "This is Gimli, son of Gloin, Legolas of the Woodland Realm…" We exchange a meaningful look. "And Keira of the Wilderlands."

"An odd title for one of Elvenkind," states the horseman, eyeing me distrustfully.

"I am not fully of Elvenkind," I retort sharply. "My mother hailed from Rivendell, but my father was of Men."

The horseman seems to relax at long last, and Aragorn continues. "We are friends of Rohan and of Theoden, your king."

"Theoden no longer recognizes friend from foe." The man removes his helmet, revealing a hard, handsome face framed by long golden hair that clings to his temples. There is a bright sheen of sweat across his strong brow. "Not even his own kin," he says, gesturing for his men to raise their spears. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished." In that moment I recognize him. He is Eomer, nephew of Theoden, one of the many famed horsemen that take charge of the land of Rohan. My father spoke of him now and then, even going so far as to informing me of their first and last meeting. Byron said that he was a kind but troubled man. Not surprising, given the fact that King Theoden fell into madness little less than a decade later.

"The White Wizard is cunning," Eomer says. "He walks here and there, they say...as an old man hooded and cloaked. And everywhere, his spies slip past our nets."

"We are no spies," assures Aragorn. "We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plains. They have taken three of our friends captive."

"The Uruks were destroyed," Eomer says darkly. "We slaughtered them during the night."

My blood seems to freeze in my veins. _Destroyed?_

"But there were two hobbits!" Gimli exclaims. "Did you see two hobbits with them?"

"They would be small. Only children to your eyes," adds Aragorn.

"And there was another," I say abruptly. All eyes turn to look at me, and I feel Legolas's arm brush against my own. "A black wolf," I continue. "He… belongs to me. Was he there?"

Eomer simply shakes his head. "We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them." He points to a smoldering pile some distance behind us. My heart clenches terribly, and it takes all I have within me not to fall to my knees.

"Dead?" whispers Gimli. Legolas's face turns somber as the weight of the horseman's words weight down on us. Could Merry and Pippin really be gone? Could Carca's words to me have been his last?

"I am sorry," says Eomer. His gaze lingers on me for a moment, perhaps surveying the sorrow written onto my features. But a small part of me cannot help but wonder if the gleam in his eye is entirely well-meaning. After a moment's silence, Eomer looks up and gives a clear whistle. "Hasufel! Arod! Donovan!"

The sound of scuffling footsteps resounds as three horses make their way through the throng. Two of them allow Eomer to grasp their reigns, whereas the third comes to stand directly in front of me. The massive grey animal easily dwarfs me in size, yet there is a deep and ancient respect buried in its dark gaze. While the horsemen may be oblivious to my true title, their steeds are not.

_So much for flying, _I think, my expression wonderstruck.

"May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters. Farewell." Eomer slides on his helmet and mounts his horse. "Look for your friends, but to not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands." With one last shout of, "We ride north!" Eomer turns his horsemen round, and in an instant they have flooded down the hill and vanished below the horizon.

The grey horse snorts at me, and with a heavy heart I grip hold of its reigns. Aragorn does the same with Hasufel, while Legolas busies himself with removing Arod's saddle. I don't have to inquire after his actions, as I know well that Elves dislike the thought of putting such things on animals. Arod seems rather pleased with his new master, as he has taken to nipping at Legolas's tunic.

"There is but one thing left for us to do," says Aragorn upon mounting his horse. Hasufel shuffles beneath him, eager to abide to his master's will.

"We must search through the corpses," I mutter, running my fingers down Donovan's soft nose. "Only then can we be sure of anything."

"Surely they have not perished." Legolas nimbly slides onto Arod's back, then hoists up Gimli so that the dwarf is seated behind him. "Hobbits are quick-witted creatures. They would have known how to evade harm."

"So we may hope." Grunting, I heave myself onto Donovan's back. It has been a while since I have ridden a horse. In fact, it was Asfaloth, the steed of Glorfindel, who last bore me any distance at all. The thought of riding anything besides Carca has been quite distant until now.

_Hello, my friend, _I say to his mind. Donovan may not be an Elven horse, but he is able enough to acknowledge my silent words. _We have only just met, yet already I can tell that you know who I am. _

The stallion stamps a hoof in reply, and tossing back its platinum mane. _We are similar, you and I. In recent days we have both lost something. _I lean forward until my lips are brushing against its velvety ear. _All I ask is that you aid me in recovering the ones I love._

"Will you come with us?" I look up to see that Aragorn has already set off atop Hasufel, while Legolas and Gimli remain with Arod. The Elf's eyes are filled with despair as our gazes meet. "Keira?" he inquires softly.

"A thousand Uruks could not keep me from you now." Winding Donovan's reigns around my palm, I place my remaining hand on the horse's neck. "Go forth, and let nothing stop you until we reach the forest border," I tell him.

I am barely able to catch a glimpse of Legolas's grin before Donovan shoots off.

After a brief ride we have reached our destination, and the reek of decompoing Uruks is ripe on the air as Donovan slows to a halt. Arod canters up beside us, nostrils flaring at the wretched stench. Even Legolas dons a rather displeased expression as he and Gimli dismount the white horse. I follow suit, and the three of us go to where Aragorn stands, sifting through the mass of seared flesh and blackened skulls. Gimli prods at the pile with his axe before letting out a gentle gasp. When next he raises his blade, there is a small leather belt caught on the end of it.

"It's one of their wee belts," he whispers.

Legolas bows his head and begins a low Elvish chant. "Hiro hyn hîdh… ab 'wanath…"

"No," I breathe. "No, no it cannot be."

Aragorn lets out a yell of anger as he kicks an Uruk helmet. The object hurdles through the air, and the Ranger falls to his knees. I stride up next to him and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. "There was nothing you could do," I tell him. "Nothing at all."

"We failed them," Gimli says.

Aragorn looks down, sharp eyes surveying the indentions in the grass. "A hobbit lay here," he says sadly, tracing his fingers along the ground. "And the other."

I have to look away as the Ranger begins to retrace the hobbits' trail. How can they be gone? How could such happy, bubbly creatures be taken away in such fashion? Tears snake down my cheeks as I remember their awestruck expression when I showed them magic. The hope and happiness in their eyes when I told them that I would take care of them. That I would let nothing happen to them.

And I have completely and utterly failed.

"Carca," I whisper out, just low enough for the others not to hear. "Carca, I have lost them. But I still feel you. Deep in my heart, I know you are alive. So please…" My voice fails me, and I place a hand on my forehead. A sob catches in my throat. "Please be safe."

"Their bonds were cut." Aragorn's voice moves me to glance over towards him. The Ranger holds clutched in his hands the remains of a rope. He rises to his feet, following the trail of marks and scuffs as would a hound on a scent. Legolas and Gimli follow after him.

_…__Could it be?_

I rush up to the three of him, frantically blotting away my tears. "They ran over here," says Aragorn, sweeping closer and closer towards the looming borders of Fangorn. "They were followed."

"Valar forbid," I whisper.

"The tracks lead away from the battle…" Aragon sprints forward, the rest of us following, only to come to a grinding halt before the gnarled, darkened branches of the trees. "…and into Fangorn forest."

"Fangorn?" marvels Gimli. "What madness drove them in there?"

"What does it matter?" All eyes to turn to me as I run my fingers along the trunk of an old oak tree. "They're alive." I press my forehead against the cold bark, blinking back another wave of tears. "Hope yet remains that we might reach them before the fell creatures of Isenguard."

"We must be swift," says Legolas. "They could not have gone far." The Elf gives a clear whistle to Arod. The white horse canters obediently over to him, and Legolas whispers something in the animal's ear. I glance over my shoulder, only to find Donovan already standing behind me. His eyes are bright and wild, mirroring my own almost identically.

"Do not fear," I say, softly stroking his neck. "The forest poses no more threat to us than the Uruks we were pursing."

"We cannot take them with us." Aragorn readjusts his scabbard. "The pathway into Fangorn is too treacherous." Upon noting my panicked looked, the Ranger smiles. "Do not fear. Their masters have trained them well. They will answer to our call once we have passed through."

Swallowing, I turn to look at Donovan. The horse blinks at me, dark coat gleaming. "So be it," I say. Giving his neck one last pat, I tear myself away from the animal and look out towards the dark depths of Fangorn forest.

"Let us be gone."

* * *

><p>A long and humid half-hour passes by as we trek deeper and deeper into the dreary wood. The gnarled tree roots that jut out from the ground prove to be irritating obstacles as we search for clues to the hobbits' whereabouts.<p>

It does not take us long, however, to come upon something we did not expect.

"Orc blood," Gimli says with a growl. The dwarf spits out the vile substance, and I feel slightly ill as I gaze down at the dark liquid pooled inside a clump of leaves. Of course, we could not be certain of its identity had he not tasted it, but that does not make the act any less disgusting.

"Let us hope that Merry and Pippin fared better than him," I mutter, eyeing the blood spatter as I jog forward to catch up with the others. Aragorn busies himself with surveying prints on the forest floor, while Legolas observes the towering trees surrounding us. His blue eyes are alive with wonder and curiosity.

"These are strange tracks," says Aragorn, kneeling down beside an oddly-shaped mark.

Gimli shuffles closer to me, axe grimed firmly in hand. "The air is so close in here."

"This forest is old," says Legolas. "So old that almost I have begun to feel young again. It is full of memory…" He pauses, looking briefly towards me. "And anger."

A deep groan vibrates through the air, and before I know it I am standing beside the Elf, gripping hold of his forearm. "Is that…what I think it is?"

"The trees are speaking to each other," he says fondly.

"Gimli!" Aragorn shouts. "Lower your axe!"

I roll my eyes and release Legolas's arm. _Leave it to a dwarf to anger a forest._

"They have feelings, my friend," says the Prince, looking now towards his bearded companion. "The Elves began it. Waking up the trees, teaching them to speak."

Gimli grumbles something in reply, but I am unable to make it out. Something else has caught my attention. A strange feeling, like someone—or something—is watching us.

"Legolas," I say in warning. The Elf in turn places a comforting hand on my shoulder before striding up towards Aragorn.

"Aragorn, nad no ennas."

"Man cenich?" inquires the Ranger. I step up to the both of them, gesturing for Gimli to do the same. _Something's not right._

Legolas looks deeply into the forest before whispering, "The white wizard approaches."

A shudder racks down my spine, followed by a wave of anger so strong that I feel my eyes begin to sizzle with heat. Aragorn sets his jaw. "Do not let him speak," he says. "He will put a spell on us."

Gimli readies his axe, and Legolas runs his fingers along the end of an arrow he holds knocked and drawn. Aragorn slides his sword several inches out from its scabbard. The sound it makes mirrors the gentle hissing noise produced by my longknives as I draw them out from my belt loop. The blades twinkle savagely, prepared for whatever horrors might lie before us both.

"We must be quick," whispers Aragorn.

In the blink of an eye, all four of us have whipped around, only to be greeted by a brilliant white light. Gimli hurdles his axe towards the glowing figure, only to have it deflected not a moment later. Legolas releases an arrow, and I raise my hand in preparation to throw one of the knives. I am barred from doing so, however, when the hilts of both my daggers begin to give off a red-hot glow. Their burning hilts sear at my palms, and I give a cry before flinging them to the ground. Aragorn does the same with his sword.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits," booms a deep voice. Squinting against the light, I raise up a hand to shield my eyes.

"Where are they?" demands Aragorn, taking a step forward.

"They passed this way the day before yesterday," continues the voice. This time, however, its tone is different. Familiar. Eerily familiar. "They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

My mouth falls agape. "Blessed Valar, let it be so."

"Show yourself!" Aragorn cries.

Time seems to slow as the light dims down, and a white-robbed figure steps out from it. He holds clutched in his hand a pale staff, and his kind, wrinkled face beams with pleasure.

A strangled sob escapes my lips. "Mithrandir?"

The white wizard smiles.

"Hello, my dear."

* * *

><p><strong>Still alive! Did y'all miss me? I've been so busy with so much that it seems time has really gotten the best of me. Oh well. Anyways, I hope you all liked the new chapter! This next one should be a pretty quick one to write, so I should have it up sometime soon! Sorry to keep you waiting though!<strong>

**BTW BOTFA WAS AMAZING! LIKE I HAVE SO LOST ALL ABILITY TO EVEN! LIKE CAN WE TALK ABOUT THRANDUIL'S SASS LEVEL?! CANNOT COMPUTE!**

***runs away sobbing and gets torched by Smaug***

**xoxo**

**-PC**


	28. Broken

"It cannot be."

Aragorn gapes in awe while Legolas and Gimli both kneel down in reverence. Tears stream down my cheeks as I rush forward, all thoughts of rage having dissipated into sheer joy.

"Mithrandir," I say again, not bothering to contain the break in my voice. "You've come back."

The wizard gazes down at me from atop a great rock. His robes glow with a strange yet beautiful light, matching with the twinkle of his eyes.

"Forgive me," I hear Legolas say. "I mistook you for Saruman."

"I am Saruman," says Gandalf. "Or rather, Saruman as he should have been."

My lips quiver into a smile, and before I know it I have leapt up and thrown my arms around his neck. The wizard draws back slightly, clearly startled. But then I hear the familiar sound of his laughter as he returns the embrace. Sobbing, I bury my face into his cloak.

"You fell." Aragorn's voice drifts to my ears.

Gandalf gives a gentle sigh, and I pull away, still clinging to his arm. "Through fire… and water," the wizard says. "From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth." His grey eyes take on a distant look as they meet with my own. "Until at last I threw down my enemy, and smote his ruin on the mountainside."

An image of Gandalf, lying cold and wounded atop a great peak, flashes before my eyes. I shudder. "Darkness took me," he continues. "And I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as a life age of the Earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in my again." The white wizard places a hand over my own as he gazes at the Ranger. "I've been sent back, until my task is done."

"Gandalf," whispers Aragorn, shuffling forward.

Mithrandir frowns. "Gandalf?" I nod to him, and the wizard seems to recall the name. "Yes. That is what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey." He grins. "That was my name."

Gimli beams. "Gandalf!"

A mischievous glimmer winks in the wizard's eyes. "I am Gandalf the White, and I come back to you now… At the turn of the tide."

"I knew you would come," I say softly. "Deep in my heart, I knew."

"And I knew that you would wait for me, dear one." Gandalf smiles. "I made an acquaintance during my departure. One who is very familiar to you."

My eyes widen. "But surely you cannot mean…?"

The wizard laughs gently. "Your mentor was the first to great me after the Balrog was slain. She spoke many great things of you and your companion."

"Do you know where he is?" I ask. "Did Celeb tell you where Carca would be held?"

Gandalf blinks with sorrow. "I fear that Carca's capture eluded us both. His assailants were all slain, yet there was no sign of him with the hobbits."

"Did they speak of him at all?"

"Not a word," he says. "It would seem to me that your companion was not being taken to Saruman at all." Mithrandir steps down from the rock, and I follow after him. "Something dark lurks in the fires of Mount Doom," continues the wizard. "A beast whose power strives to overcome Sauron himself. It is the one you spoke of to me all those nights ago." Gandalf turns to look at me, his expression utterly severe. "Hear me when I say this, Keira. That poisonous serpent is a villain beyond measure. He strives to take hold of Carca's mind. He wants to turn him against you."

My blood turns cold as ice. "Gandalf, you know that Carca cannot be broken. Karr's efforts will be pointless."

"Perhaps you are right, but a power-hungry demon will not accept defeat."

"Time is against us," says Legolas abruptly. I glance towards the Elf, watching through sad eyes as he peers out into the dark forest. "We cannot remain here."

"I am quite aware," Gandalf replies. The wizard strokes away my tears before placing a hand on my shoulder. "We will find him, Keira. He cannot have gone far."

* * *

><p><em>Drums. Deep, pulsing, pounding drums. They echo in his ears and rattle in his mind. Oh, what he would give to be rid of them. He had come so close—so close to being free of the iron hands of the enemy. She had been there with him for the fleetest of moments; he could feel the warmth of her now-forgotten presence. Even her voice, as smooth as an endless flow of honey, had the power to dissolve some of the pain that ached within him. <em>

Where are you, Keira? _he thinks. _How far from me have you ventured?

_Of course, she does not respond. Their connection had been severed by an outside force, one that sent shivers down his spine. The Drake-lord can sense him. He knows he is coming._

_His wild thoughts spiral exhaustingly through his head, and he stumbles once. The sharp crack of a whip sounds behind him, followed by a lashing blow to the flank. _

"Keep moving!"_ shrieks a voice. _"We haven't got all day!"

_He turns round, ignoring the clanging protests of the chains bound on his neck, and bares his fangs. _"I do not take orders from Orc _filth."_

_The Uruk snarls back at him and delivers a splintering blow to his foreleg. But he does not cry out, nor does he wince as his own blood spatters the ground before him. If this should be the end for him, he will not die afraid. He will perish as so many of his kinsmen have. Fighting. There is no other choice for him, now. She does not know where he is, and he cannot tell her._

_For the first time in two decades, he is utterly and completely alone._

* * *

><p>"One stage of your journey is over. Another begins."<p>

Gandalf beckons the four of us towards him as he makes his way through the forest. For having lived a great number of years, the old wizard still bears a remarkable swiftness. While a dull grey cloak now masks the luminous attire beneath, there has an air about him that demands respect.

"We must travel to Edoras with all speed," he continues.  
>"Edoras?" echoes Gimli. "That is no short distance!"<p>

"We hear of trouble in Rohan," Aragorn says, striding up beside him. "It goes ill with the king."

"Yes," says the wizard knowingly. "And it will not be easily cured."

"Hardly a surprise," I snap. "Saruman has twisted Theoden's mind beyond repair. No mortal man could heal him now." I stride forward to keep pace with the two of them. "But you have magic on your side, Gandalf. Too long has that poor soul been grieved by one so evil." I touch his shoulder. "Will you help him?"

He glances at me sadly. "I will do what I can, but I cannot insure that Theoden will survive."

Gimli scoffs. "Then have we run all this way for nothing? Are we to leave these poor hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested—?" He is cut short by hollow groans emanating from the trees. The sound itself pricks at my skin, and I shoot him a look.

"I mean… charming!" stammers Gimli, grinning meekly. "Quite charming forest!"

"It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn," continues Gandalf. "A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones… that starts an avalanche in the mountains."

Aragorn smirks slightly. "In one thing you have not changed, dear friend." The wizard looks at him curiously, and the Ranger continues. "You still speak in riddles."

They both chuckle, and I pause to lean against a large tree. The bark is cold and rough beneath my fingertips as I run my hands along the trunk, pondering over everything and nothing at once. The forest's edge is but a few feet ahead of us, yet a part of me is quite content to remain here. Yes, it is dark and dreary, but there a deep knowledge that takes residence here. A knowledge only shared amongst the trees, and no one else.

_How I would love to know what you're thinking. _I smile slightly. _Perhaps one day I will._

"You won't hear anything." I look over to see Legolas striding up to me, with Gimli trailing after him. His blue eyes are the color of a cloudless sky as he gazes about at the forest. "Their voices are guarded from the ears of Men and Elves alike," he says. "They are wise creatures. Far wiser than we could ever hope to know." Legolas smiles half-heartedly. "When the wars have raged themselves into nonexistence, perhaps treesong might once again fill the heart of Fangorn."

"Let us hope," I reply, bidding a silent farewell to the forest as I make towards the retreating forms of Gandalf and Aragorn. "I've heard it is quite beautiful."

"It is, mellon nin. It is."

"A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder days," Gandalf says from up ahead. "The Ents are going to wake, and find that they are strong."

"Strong?" The trees groan in response to Gimli's remark. "Oh," he says, peering about uneasily. "That's good!"

"So stop your fretting, master dwarf!" says Gandalf sharply, pausing to face us. "Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be!"

"If only we could say the same about Carca," I whisper.

Legolas runs a hand along my forearm. "He is strong, Keira. Have as much faith in him as he does in you."

I look up at him, eyes glazed with pain. "If the Dark Lord plans to use my companion as I fear he will, faith cannot save him now."

The Prince does not reply, yet he continues to stare at me with those pale, piercing eyes. He knows I'm hiding something. He knows that something's wrong. Blinking once, I force myself to look away. Sunlight has begun to pierce through the thinning layer of tree canopy above us, and before I know it we have emerged out of the dark forest altogether. The golden lands that lie before us stretch out far into the horizon, where at long last they melt away with distance. I squint against the burn of daylight as we come to stand beside Gandalf.

_Donovan, _I call out. _Donovan, are you near?_

The sound of pounding hooves acts as my reply, and I turn around to see three horses emerging out from beneath the shade of a great oak tree. Arod and Hasufel canter up to their masters, while Donovan paces swiftly over to me. Smiling, I grab hold of his reins and run my fingers down the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly, my ears are met with a clear whistle. Looking over at the others, I am surprised to find that Gandalf is the one producing the sound. The high notes rise up and down as they carry along with the spring breeze until, rather abruptly, they are ceased. I exchange a bewildered look with Legolas.

"What is he doing?" I mouth. The Prince simply shakes his head.

I frown slightly and am prepared to inquire aloud when a sharp whinny carries out from beyond a hillside not far from us. Moments later, the glistening white figure of a horse appears upon the crest of the hill. The creature gallops towards us at great speed, its ivory coat shining brilliantly in the sun.

"That is one of the Meares," breathes Legolas. "Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."

Gandalf bows his head in greeting as the horse comes to stand before him. "Shadowfax," the old wizard says, stroking the animal's neck. "He is the lord of all horses, and has been my friend through many dangers." With not a moment to spare, Gandalf mounts his white steed. "Come. We must make for Edoras with all haste."

"Are you certain Merry and Pippin are in good hands?" I ask, hoisting myself onto Donovan.

The wizard looks over at me and nods. "I am sure." With that he ushers Shadowfax forward, and the four of us set off after him.

* * *

><p>Night falls several hours after our leave of Fangorn, and our company was forced to make camp on a steep hillside not terribly far from our destination. Aragorn has kindled a fire, and the four of us huddle around it in an attempt to preserve what little warmth we have. Gandalf, however, remains standing a short distance away from us, gazing out towards the East with an unreadable expression.<p>

"Those trees were up to something," Gimli grumbles, prodding the flames with a spare twig. "I don't fancy that forest. Not in the slightest."

"Gimli," I chide. "If your friends had been wrenched out of their homes and chopped to bits by Uruk-hai, I would not doubt that you'd behave just as they did. If not worse."

"Trees aren't supposed to have friends, lass."

"The ones in Fangorn are different than their lesser kin. They have memories, stored away in the depths of their wooden hearts. A language unknown to Men is spoken through their boughs." I smile at him. "Who knows, we might learn it someday."

Gimli grumbles as he tosses the twig into the fire. "I've had enough of talking forests."

Legolas, who had been observing the both of us in a pleasant silence, looks now towards me. "Have you any word from Carca?"

Glancing sideways at him, I shake my head. "Nothing."

"I presume you have told Gandalf of his capture?"

"Of course," I say. "But he and I both know that as long as Carca's location remains unknown, there is no point in searching for him. Countless leagues lie between us, it seems. It would be impossible to know where he is." A bitter cold wind gust snakes its way through the plains, nipping at my cheeks and causing me to shudder. Legolas frowns.

"You're cold."

"Only a little,' I reply sheepishly. "The fire's helping."

My answer does no more than to worry him further. The Elf rises nimbly to his feet before removing the Lorien cloak from his shoulders. My eyes widen as he moves towards me.

"Oh, Legolas, you don't have to—" I am cut off mid-sentence when the Prince drapes the cloak over my own shoulders. His long fingers fasten the leaf pin above my collarbones with delicate precision. Smiling, I clasp my hands overtop his. "Thank you," I say. Legolas blinks softly as I look up at him.

"Does that help?" he asks.

"Very much so."

Gimli mutters something inaudible as Legolas takes a seat next to me. By now it has almost become instinct for me to lean into him whenever he is close. Our short, blissful moments together are often what keep me sane. Sighing gently, I allow myself to drop my guard as I curl up against him, savoring his warmth and company.

"Thank you, Prince," I whisper.

Legolas runs his hand along my arm. "Always," he replies.

After a short moment of gazing out into the fire, my eyelids droop closed. The low sound of scuffling footsteps signifies the departure of Aragorn. He and Gandalf proceed to converse together in hushed whispers, their voices indiscernible from the crackling of the fire.

"Do you miss Mirkwood, Legolas?" Although my words are muffled by his tunic, he acknowledges them with a sigh.

"I do not deny that my heart still yearns to be within that forest," says Legolas. "But I know that I am no longer bound to it. My place is here with the company." I open my eyes, and he smiles down at me. "With you."

"But it is your home!" I exclaim, leaning up to face him. "Don't you plan to go back to it when all has been said and done?"

The Elf simply shakes his head. "I do not know. The road ahead has yet to be forseen. I cannot think so far into the future, for it is the present that bears the most danger."

I place a hand on his shoulder. "What of your father, Legolas? Would he be as willing to let you go as you are to leave?"

"That I cannot say."

"Thranduil loves you, mellon nin. For all your extraordinary vision, I fear you cannot see. You are blind to the fact that your own father still cares for you."

"Do not speak for me, Keira," he says lowly.

"I speak with you, not for you," I whisper. "Who will you have when the end has neared? Who will be there for you when all your friends have passed? Who will weep with you when they are buried?"

Legolas looks deeply into my eyes. "What aren't you telling me, Keira?"

Breathing in deeply, I allow my hands to fall into my lap. "Legolas, I—you must know that it is unlikely that I will survive the battles ahead. Sauron's mind is set to destroy me."

"You speak of your end as if it is already sealed in time."

_Because it is._

"One day we all will pass, though some deaths will come sooner than others." I dig my jagged fingernails into my palms. "We will not always have each other to lean on," I say. "I don't want you to be alone."

"You are not going to die!" he says fiercely. I draw back, but he clasps hold of my hands to prevent any further retreat. "Your words break my heart, Keira. Why do you act as if death is the only way to win this war?"

Tears cloud in my eyes, blurring Legolas's face until it is nothing more than a pale smear. "I made a promise," I say, battling against the knot in my throat. "A promise that I dare not speak of to anyone other than the one who demands I keep it. My life was sealed on a scroll of parchment that proves that I am the last of the Were-riders, bound forever to my pledge until my task has been fulfilled. It is no longer I who decide my fate. It has been chosen for me."

"There is always another path," Legolas replies.

I squeeze his hand. "Perhaps there is. But I dare not take it now."

"Would you two pipe down over there?"

Legolas and I look over to see Gimli squinting over at us with an irritated expression. The dwarf appears to have dosed off through the greater part of our conversation.

"You will forgive us, master dwarf," I say, smiling softly at him. "We had no intention of waking you."

Gimli grumbles something to himself as he leans back down, helm drawn over his eyes. Hardly a moment has passed before the night air is filled with his rumbling snores. Sighing, I press my shoulder briefly against Legolas's before rising to my feet.

"Until the morn," I whisper, turning now towards the cloak I have laid out beside the fire. I have taken no more than a single step when I am stopped by a hand on my wrist.

"Keira," Legolas says. I pause mid-stride and look back at him, heart pounding.

"Yes, Prince?"

A bemused smile plays across his lips. "You truly are a blessing to us all. Never forget that."

His words shock me into an equally stunned silence. "I…thank you," I stammer at long last. A fierce blush flares to life on my cheeks, and for a moment I feel as though I might die of embarrassment.

"Rest well," he says.

"And you," I manage to squeak out. After a moment, however, I feel my mouth twist into a faint smile. "I would be nothing without you, Prince."

His fair face seems to glow as he gazes up at me. We share a meaningful look, and he gives my wrist a comforting squeeze before releasing me. I blink fondly before stuffing my hands in the pockets of my tunic and melting back into the night.

"Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld."

Gandalf's voice rings out across the plains as we halt our horses before the large city. It rests upon the brow of a great hilltop, overlooking the rest of the world below. The regal Golden Hall shines a deep shade of amber in the midday sun, and I can barely make out the red glint of Rohan's banner as it furls in the wind beside it.

"There dwells Theoden, King of Rohan," continues Gandalf, "Whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Theoden is now very strong."

"Then we must break this hold as soon as possible," I say, spurring Donovan lightly. The horse forward at my command, followed closely by the rest of our company.

"Do not look to be welcomed here," Legolas says, ushering Arod to keep pace beside me. Gimli keeps a tight grip onto his Elven friend's belt, and I stem a laugh at his annoyed expression.

"I would not be so quick to judge," I reply. "Saruman may have a hold on Rohan's king, but the townspeople still cling to the hope that his mind will be returned to him. I do not doubt that they will be wary of us, but surely Gandalf will change that. The healing of the king will show that we mean no harm."

"Perhaps you should allow Mithrandir to enter first, then."

Realization dawn on me, and I shoot him a curious look. "Are you… _worried _about me, Legolas?"

The Prince frowns. "You are my friend, Keira. I cannot help but be fearful of you entering this city without a predecessor. There is no telling how the townspeople might react to you."

I look to the heavens and grin widely. "Forgive me, but I think a wizard might concern them more than a woman would." Legolas's reply is lost in Donovan's pounding hoof-treads as we near Edoras's entry gate. The ground beneath us shifts into a steep incline, making it increasingly difficult for our horses to find a proper footing. Nevertheless, Donovan speeds up the dusty trail before slowing to a brisk trot before the city gates.

I am just about to coax him through when a faint ripping sound catches my attention. Looking up, I watch as a red and gold banner filters down from Edoras's walls and settles on the ground beside me. Hasufel paces up with Aragorn in tow, and the Ranger peers quizzically down at the standard.

"Perhaps it is an omen," I say hopefully.

"I would not count on it," Aragorn replies, looking towards the Golden Hall. I follow his gaze and am surprised to find it resting upon the form of a white-robbed maiden standing before the great structure. I tilt my head at her, then watch in mild amusement as she does the same.

"Come," says Aragorn. "Let us go after the others."

I nod stiffly, and we usher our horses through the gates of Edoras. The others are not far ahead, and with Shadowfax having taken to a slower, more methodical pace, it does not take long to catch up to them. Several dozen townspeople have begun to filter out from their homes, each bearing a distrustful expression. I lock eyes with a small elderly woman, whose mouth twists downward in sorrow.

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," mutters Gimli.

"What have these poor souls gone through?" I whisper, sliding down from Donovan's saddle. The rest of the company dismount their own steeds, and the five of us proceed up the steps to the Golden Hall. As we walk past the bare flagpole, I note that the woman I saw earlier is nowhere to be seen. My brow furrows.

Upon reaching the Hall's front gates, several guards step out before us, preventing any further advances.

"I cannot allow you before Theoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame," announces the first guard. "By order of Grima Wormtongue." His stringy copper hair falls just above his shoulders, clinging to the sides of his young but weathered face. I observe him through narrowed eyes. Since when would a guard—and one of stature, at that—take orders from a man will such a title? The very name drips with lies and deceit.

_Perhaps it is time that I paid _him _a visit._

Gandalf nods to us, and Legolas and Aragorn begin to slow process of fishing out their weapons. I exchange an irritated look with Gimli before drawing out my longknives. Their glittering hilts capture the attention of a blond-haired guard, who eyes them with increasing envy.

"Try to hoard them from me, and I'll gut you," I snap. Legolas elbows me in the ribs, and I groan under my breath before handing over the blades. The guard takes them and proceeds to look me over with a squinted expression, surveying every blemish and curve. I stare back at him, cheeks simmering with barely-restrained rage. The man blinks at me once before turning away.

"Your staff," says the first guard, looking towards Gandalf.

The wizard hums as he runs a hand down the white wood. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick," he says gently.

The guard gazes worryingly at him, but at long last turns to lead us forward. Gandalf smiles slyly and winks at Aragorn. A grin stretches at my lips as Legolas links arms with the wizard, supporting him. Or so it would seem.

"They don't know what they're in for," I mutter to Gimli, who gives a gruff laugh in return. The captain of the guard pauses by the front gates, allowing us to pass through without hindrance. He eyes me suspiciously as I stride past him, but the reluctant guard is the least of my worries.

A short distance ahead of us lie two thrones, each of which bear an occupant. One of the seats is smaller than the other, suggesting that it harbors an advisor instead of the king himself. When at last we come near the far end of the Hall, my assumptions are confirmed when I take in the pale, wrinkled form of man who sits hunched on his golden throne. He is cloaked in royal robes, with a jeweled crown resting upon his grey head, yet Theoden seems the farthest from a king that I have ever seen. An image of Thranduil, sitting regally on his throne, flashes before my eyes. When I think of a king, I see him, not a shriveled carcass of a man possessed.

Theoden's hazed eyes seem to be looking everywhere and nowhere as our company approaches him. Having abandoned the aid of Legolas, Gandalf now walks alone as he moves to address the man. "The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late… Theoden King.'"

Footsteps echo from behind me, and I look over my shoulder to see a menacing throng of guards trailing after us. Their expressions are so unwavering that if I did not know better, I would think them to be set in stone. "We are being followed," I tell Aragorn. The Ranger nods to me as we shuffle closer to Gandalf. If the guards were to attack, their main goal will be to stop Gandalf from aiding their ill-fated king.

Theoden's ghostly pale advisor whispers something in his ear. Moments later, the haggard king turns his gaze towards the wizard standing before him. "Why should I welcome you… Gandalf Stormcrow?" croaks Theoden.

"A just question, my liege." The pale man—Grima Wormtongue, I note with a sneer—rises from his seat and strides towards Gandalf. Though I cannot see them, I feel the group of guards draw closer to us. It is only a matter of time before the fighting commences. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear," Grima says. "Lathspell, I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent!" commands Gandalf. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." He raises up his staff, and Grima's face goes slack.

"His staff," he mutters, then louder, "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

Anger swells within my chest, and my irises flare briefly. "You dare!" I exclaim.

Grima looks over at me with a grimace. "Be silent, wench. These are matter of men, not the likes of—" The man is unable to finish, for in the blink of an eye I have lunged forward and clamped my hands around his neck. The force of the impact knocks us both to the ground. Grima gives a cry of surprise as he attempts to free himself, but my grasp is like iron. A strength I have not felt in over a half-moon floods back into my body, and I dig my fingernails deeper into his skin.

"Listen to me, Worm," I hiss, rising up over him. "If you ever so much as think of calling me such a title again, I will finish what I have started."

Having observed the commotion, the guards advance on me, only to find their blows paryed by Legolas and Aragorn. Gimli joins the fight without hesitation, allowing Gandalf to continue his approach on the king.

"Theoden," he booms. "Son of Thengel… Too long have you sat in the shadows!"

Grima squirms violently, but I still him with a foot to the chest.

"Hearken to me!" cries Gandalf, raising up his hand. "I release you… from the spell."

The Hall is filled with the sound of mocking laughter. Theoden's clouded eyes narrow slightly as he gazes back at Gandalf. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey."

I grin widely. "Oh, you're going to regret saying that."

Gandalf throws back his old robes, revealing the shining ivory ones beneath. Theoden is taken aback by the light, his face having contorted into a dark grimace.

The wizard holds out his staff. "I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound." A great thrust of energy explodes from the staff, throwing the king back in his throne. Grima writhes beneath me, his face a mix of terror and disbelief. A sharp gasp resounds as a blond maiden rushes into the room, only to be faced with the sight of the king struggling against Gandalf's magic. I watch her closely as she attempts to run towards him, only to be stopped by Aragorn.

"Wait," says the Ranger. He reaches out and takes hold of her forearm. The woman's blue eyes flit about the room before coming to rest on mine. She surveys me briefly, then drops her gaze down to Grima. Her eyes bulge.

"If I go, Theoden dies!" cries a rasped voice. I turn back to the scene unfolding before me. Theoden's eyes flames with anger and hatred as Gandalf advances further, staff extended.

"You did not kill me," says Gandalf. "You will not kill him."

The voice echoing from Theoden's lips is no longer his own. "Rohan is mine!"

"_Be gone!"_

With a cry of rage the King lunges, only to be thrown back by a blow of magic so powerful that it makes the hair on my arms stand on end. Having rid of the demon within his mind, Theoden falls limp upon his throne. Groaning, he sags forward, and the blonde maiden rushes to him. She grasps his shoulders and helps to lean him upright once more. The King gasps, and I watch in befuddlement as his face begins to shift. The wrinkles on his skin disappear, and his long grey beard shortens until it appears groomed and golden. Theoden's hair shifts to a similar color, and I watch on with a smile as his eyes grow void of the fog that once covered them.

The King of Rohan gazes quizzically at the woman kneelt before him. "I know your face," he says. After a moment, a smile curls at his lips "Eowyn." The woman beams at him as tears slip down her cheeks. Theoden gazes about at everyone before looking towards the wizard. "Gandalf?" he whispers.

Mithrandir smiles. "Breathe the free air again, my friend."

King Theoden rises shakily to his feet. "Dark have been my dreams of late," he says, stroking his fingertips.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword," Gandalf says. Upon his word, the captain of the guard steps forward and offers Theoden his sword. The King grasps its golden hilt, and the blade slides from its sheath with a metallic purr. He extends the sword out in front of him, seemingly awestruck. Aragorn smiles softly.

Theoden's joy is short-lived, however, when realization dawns on him, and a dark glower knits at his brow. I fold my arms across my chest as the King's gaze comes to rest upon Grima, who lies trembling beneath my feet.

What happens next is but a blur in my mind, but before I know it Theoden's guards have hauled Grima out of the Golden Hall and sent him tumbling down its stone steps. Aragorn bustles after the king as he descends the stairs, sword held readily at his side. I watch on from the entryway, praying that Theoden grants the snake-skin man the treatment he deserves.

"I've only ever s-served you, my lord," stammers Grima. The man scrambles backwards on the palms of his hands, pasty lips dribbling with blood.

Theoden's shoulders go rigid as he storms towards him. "Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast."

"Send me not from your sight," Grima pleads. His eyes widen in fear as the king's shadow looms over him.

I watch on with interest as Theoden raises his sword high above his head, preparing to bring it down upon the man. The sun glints off of the blade's sharpened edge, turning it a shade of molten gold.

Grima Wormtounge would have been slaughtered then and there if it weren't for the intervention of a certain Ranger.

"No, my lord!" cries Aragorn, staying Theoden's hands. "No, my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been split on his account."

Blood rushes to my cheeks, causing my skin to glow with an angry blush. Aragorn extends his hand out towards the man, only to have it spat upon. With a terrible sneer Grima scrambles to his feet and plunges into the onlooking crowd, shoving past the townsfolk as he makes for the city gates.

"Hail Theoden King!" cries one of the guards. At his command, the people of Edoras kneel down in reverence. Aragorn does the same, followed closely by myself and the remaining occupants of the Great Hall. But despite my feigned respect, it is impossible to mistake the pale-faced horseman galloping out of Edoras's main gates. I shake my head at the retreating form.

"What have you done, Aragorn?" I whisper. "What have you done?"

After a short silence, Theoden turns round to look at us, a bewildered expression on his face. "Where is Theodred?" His voice cracks softly.

"Where is my son?"

Seeing the pale body of Theodred as it is born into the tomb burns an image into my mind that I shall never be able to forget. Granted, I have seen my fair share of dead things, whether they be men or elves or woodland creatures. But there is something dreadful about seeing one so young being laid to rest beside his ancient forefathers. He had an entire life ahead of him, only to have it swiped away without warning.

The air is filled with sorrow as the blonde maiden sings a lament for the fallen prince. Her eyes glitter with tears yet unshed.

"A cruel fate," I whisper solemnly, gazing at the white flowers that frame Theodred's tomb. Legolas glances down at me, but I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze. "He was so young. Too young, to perish in such a way."

"By elven standards he was but a child," Legolas says. "Now all we must do is pray that he arrives safely in the halls of his forefathers."

I heave a sigh. "Sometimes I wonder, I truly wonder, how evil the world is that it would not spare his life. His father was already dead inside. Can you image what he feels now?"

"Yes. I have felt it before."

I frown at his words. "You have not had a son." When he does not reply, I feel a flutter of panic. "Have you?"

Legolas shoots me a look that is both befuddled and amused. "Stars above, Keira, do you think that I would have kept such a thing from you?"

A strange relief washes through me, and I wrinkle my nose. "No. I don't."

"Then why do I see a flush in your cheeks?"

"Please, Legolas," I chide breathlessly. "This is a funeral, not an interrogation."

"I was not suggesting that it was." A shallow chuckle emanates from his chest. "Though I don't believe I shall ever forget the look on your face."

Theodred's tombstone rolls into place with a grating crunch. Together, Legolas and I watch as Theoden makes his way towards the grave of his son. I dip my head in respect he strides past, an air of sorrow following after him.

"Let's go," I say, gripping Legolas's wrist. "Theoden King has had enough of prying eyes for one day."

And with that we depart.

After a long half-hour of paying their respects, the townspeople go back to their daily routines, and I have busied myself with strolling through the stables. The smell of horses and hay is rank on the air as I pace back and forth, lost in a storm of thoughts. It has been days since Carca spoke to me, and by now I can hardly feel his presence at all. It is like a once raging wildfire has been reduced to a stray flame dancing in the darkness of my mind. Sometimes I wonder if he is even aware of what must be happening to him.

A low murmur sounds to the right of me. Looking over, I am surprised to find the bright eyes of Shadowfax gazing back into my own. His ivory coat reflects the light filtering down from the rafters, scattering white flecks across the floor.

"Hello, friend," I say, stepping up to him. "Why have they cooped you up in here?" The horse perks his ears quizzically, and I reach out to stroke his neck. "You are much too magnificent for stables such as these. It's not like you're going to run off." Shadowfax stamps his hoof, and I laugh. "Or are you?"

"My lady, Keira."

The voice is high and unfamiliar, bearing with it a certain tone of nervousness that sets my mind at an unease. I spin on heel, eyes fierce, when I take in the small form of Eowyn standing at the stable doors.

"Forgive me if I startled you," she says quickly. "I only wish to thank you for what you did."

"How do know my name?" I demand.

Eowyn blinks at me oddly. "Your Elf friend gave it to me."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and turn back to Shadowfax. "You've been speaking to him, then?"

"Only just now, and for barely a moment. He also informed me that I might find you here."

"Perhaps it is I who should request an audience with him if he has taken to giving my name out so freely."

"Why is your title so important to you?" Eowyn asks.

Her words freeze me in place, and my features harden. "The world is full of deceit. I'd rather my name be kept out of its groping hands." An image of Carca simmers in my thoughts. "At least when I can help it."

"Forgive me, my lady," Eowyn says, curtsying once. "I should not have pryed." The maiden then turns away, preparing to take her leave.

"Wait."

Perhaps my voice is stronger than I thought, or maybe the tone was too harsh. Either way, Eowyn jolts so noticeably that I feel she might topple over. "My lady?" she inquires.

Whispering a farewell to Shadowfax, I turn from the horse and make my way over to the young maiden. "A good deed does not call for thanks," I say upon reaching her. Eowyn gazes up at me, her eyes round and wide. It is as if she were a mouse looking up at a cat. What have I done to make her into this?

Sighing softly, I attempt a smile. "I pray that you do not look at me with such fear in your eyes. I am not so different from you. Do not regard me in high esteem, for I do not deserve it."

"If… that is your wish," Eowyn says softly.

"You will excuse me now," I tell her. "I fear that I have business to attend to."

"Of course," she whispers, stepping aside to allow me passage. I stride forward, heart heavy, only to be halted by a strange sight in the near horizon. A single horse gallops towards Edoras's gates, bearing with it two small children. My mouth falls open slightly, and I can do nothing but gape as one of them slumps over before tumbling to the ground.

"Valar forbid," I whisper, then shout. "Gandalf! Legolas! Someone, come quickly!"

Eowyn's face goes slack as I sprint past her, desperate to reach them in time. Already I have begun to hear the cries of the second child as she dismounts to aid her fallen companion. The wind pierces into my face, causing my eyes to water and tears to spill out of them. Sharp cries echo out as others take sight of the children's predicament, but it is one voice in particular that captures my attention. Looking over my shoulder, I watch as the billowing figure of Gandalf appears out of the gathering crowd.

"We must be quick," he says urgently. "They haven't much time."

Swallowing hard, I force myself to nod.

"If time is of the essence, than quick we must be."

* * *

><p>Eothain and Freda. Those are the names of the two children seen riding into Edoras. Not surprisingly, they are of the same kin. Brother and sister, hailing from a village some distance from the Golden Hall of Theoden. Their coming was brought on by Orcs who laid siege to their city and massacred a large portion of its people.<p>

Eowyn has taken to caring for them after Gandalf and I ferried the two into the Golden Hall. The elder sibling, Eothain, was barely able to move until he was offered food. His younger sister, however, seems occupied only with her mother. Thoughts of her, that is.

"They had no warning," Eowyn says, eyeing both the company and her uncle alike. She sits now with the children, tending to them while they eat. Theoden gazes sadly at the starved siblings, while Gandalf watches the King with increasing wariness.

"They were unarmed," continues the maiden. "Now the Wild Men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot and tree."

Freda looks up at her suddenly, pale eyes wide with distress. "Where is Mama?" Eowyn hushes her, adjusting the blanket bound around the girl's shoulders.

Shuffling in his throne, Theoden places a hand over his forehead. "This is but a taste of the terror Saruman will unleash," Gandalf tells him, gesturing towards the children. The King removes his hand, turning now to look at the wizard. "All the more potent, for he is driven now by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children." When Theoden makes no reply, Gandalf places a hand on his chair. "You must fight."

"It will be for the best, my lord," I add in.

"You have 2000 good men riding north as we speak," Aragorn says. "Eomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."

Theoden rises from his throne. "They will be 300 leagues from here by now. Eomer cannot help us. I know what it is you want of me..." He meets the Ranger's gaze. "But I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

"Sauron's forces stretch far and wide," I say. "They will seek you out no matter where you go."

"Open war is upon you, whether you would have it or not," concludes Aragorn.

An angry tension broils up amongst us as Theoden steps up to the Ranger. I shuffle closer to them, ready to intervene if need be.

Theoden's eyes bore into us both like sapphire daggers. "When last I heard, Theoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan," he bites.

An enormous belch fills the air, and I glance over to see Gimli sitting at a table near to Legolas. His cheeks flush with embarrassment, but I cannot bring myself to laugh, for Theoden's gaze now rests upon me. "And you?" he hisses. "Who are you to speak for me? These people you travel with have seen their share of battles and death." The King leans closer, and I draw back uncomfortably. "Can you say the same for yourself?"

It takes all the willpower I can muster to prevent myself from striking out at him. "I have lived my entire life out in the wilderness," I say icily. "My father and his hunting patrol were slaughtered by Orcs when I was fifteen. I witnessed my friends being burned alive as those foul creatures set fire to my city five months later. I heard the screams of men and horses as they were ripped apart by the claws of Wargs and left to rot among the ashes of a dead city. To this day I have not been able to rid myself of their smell." The anger in Theoden's eyes dissipates until it is a mere ember compared to what it was before. I pause to catch my breath. "Tell me, Theoden. Do you still think I have not seen death?" I spit out the last word as if it were poison.

"Keira," Aragorn whispers, placing a hand on my shoulder. "That is enough."

I heed his words, but do not move.

"What is the King's decision?"

Gandalf's question seems to diffuse some of the tension between us, and Theoden looks to his guards before turning towards me.

"We ride for Helm's Deep."

"By order of the King, the city must empty. We make for the refuge of Helm's Deep."

The voice of Theoden's guard vibrates in my ears as I make my way through a mob of people. The villagers had all swarmed together to hear his announcement, and while his words may echo new to them, they are all too familiar to me. Wrinkling my nose, I manage to slip around them before hurrying to catch up with Legolas and the others, who stride on in front of me.

"Do not burden yourself with treasures," continues Hama. "Take only the previsions you need."

"Helm's Deep!" scoffs Gandalf. "They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight!" Gimli growls, and I look over my shoulder at him. "Who will defend them if not their king?"

"He's only doing what he thinks is best for his people," Aragorn says gently. "Helm's Deep has saved them in the past."

A shadow passes overhead as we enter the stable doors. "The past is already done with," I say. "It is the present that waits to vex us. The stone walls of Helm's Deep will be bathed in blood if something is not done to prevent it."

"There is no way out of that ravine," Gandalf growls. "Theoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he's leading them to safety. What they will get is a massacre. Theoden has a strong will, but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan." The wizard turns to face Aragorn. "He will need you before the end, Aragorn. The people of Rohan will need you. The defenses have to hold."

"They will hold," ensures the Ranger.

Gandalf runs his hand along the bridge of Shadowfax's nose. "The Grey Pilgrim," he muses. "That is what they used to call me. Three hundred lives of Men I've walked this earth, and now I have no time. With luck, my search will not be in vain." Having led his horse from its stall, Gandalf mounts the white stallion, leaving us to do nothing but watch and listen. "Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east."

"Be careful, Gandalf," I whisper. Smiling, the old wizard reaches down and rests his palm on my cheek.

"I will, my dear." With that he ushers Shadowfax forward, and both horse and rider disappear out of the stables.

In the wake of his leave, I feel my troubles amplify until they are weighing down on me with brutish force. I sigh softly and close my eyes, praying that Gandalf finds the Rohirrim in time.

Legolas steps up next to me. "Have you any word from your companion?"

"No," I breathe out. "No, I do not."

His blue eyes pinch in sorrow. "Perhaps in time," says the Elf. "But until then, we must follow Gandalf's instruction. Theoden King will ride for Helm's Deep within the hour. He would have us come with him."

Legolas has hardly finished speaking when a horn blast cuts through the air, and Hama's voice carries down from the steps of the Golden Hall. "Make way for the king!"

"I must go to him," Aragorn says, turning away from us.

"Aragorn!" I call out. The Ranger looks over his shoulder, and I stride towards him. "Can you not spare a moment to speak with me?"

"What is it you wish to say?"

I stand before him, arms crossed. "Will you not try to dissuade the king further?"

"It cannot be done, Keira. Your words to him would move the hardest of hearts, yet still he did not listen. This matter is not in our hands."

"No. No, I will not believe that." I shake my head. "Aragorn, all I ask is that you think about what you're doing. Our company is loyal to you." My voice lowers slightly. "Do not take that loyalty for granted."

Aragorn frowns. "This is not a matter of loyalty, Keira. Is it about doing what is right. If you are concerned for your wellbeing, then perhaps you should busy yourself with searching for Carca, instead. His need may be direr than ours."

The Ranger's words stab into me like hot daggers, and I feel a piece of myself splinter. "Aragorn, I didn't mean—"

"We have not the time to discuss this, Keira. If you do not wish to fight with us, than do not come." Aragorn folds his arms across his chest.

Tear well in my eyes. "You don't mean that."

"The decision is yours to make, and yours alone." Another horn blast, followed by the sound of tramping hooves. Aragorn looks at me hardly.

"After all we have been through," I whisper. "After all the perils we have overcome, you think I would walk away now?"

"I do not know your mind, Keira."

"But you do know me!" My throat aches with growing emotions. "You want me to leave. Why?"

"I would not send a dear friend to war without her own consent."

"So you would let everyone else die in her place?" I gesture towards the townspeople. "What about them? Do they not have the same choice as I?"

"They must heed to their king's orders," says Aragorn.

Slowly, painfully, I begin to back away. "This is madness, Aragorn, and you know it. The Uruk-hai will outnumber us."

"Numbers do not win wars."

"Not all men are like you, Aragorn. Not everyone is as brave and loyal and trustworthy. Some will fight, and some will flee." My eyes flare briefly. "When staring into the eye of death, what can anyone do?"

"Will you fight with us or not?"

_"__Yes!"_

The strength of my voice moves him to recoil slightly. "Yes, of course," I say. "Carca is beyond my reach now. I cannot fight his battles for him." Stepping forward, I grip onto the Ranger's forearm. "But I can fight yours. You're wrong if you think that I would ever consider leaving. I swore an oath that I would remain with the company until the end. For as long as I draw breath, I will fight with you."

Aragorn clasps my elbow in return. "Are you certain?"

"More than ever."

"Aragorn!"

I look over my shoulder to see Theoden standing in the entryway to the stables. "A word," he says.

Aragorn nods, glancing at me once, before striding over to the king. No sooner has Theoden arrived than he and the Ranger have left the stable and now converse in the street. A sigh escapes my lips, and I feel Legolas step up beside me.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" I inquire aloud. Legolas looks over, blue eyes bright with intrigue.

"I cannot say," he replies.

I chew on my lip absentmindedly. "Why would Aragorn say something like that? Am I such a burden?"

"Aragorn meant no harm by what he said. I would not take offense."

"He's right, lass," says Gimli.

I chuckle softly. "You and Legolas actually agreed on something. That must be a first."

The Prince shakes his head slowly before placing a hand between my shoulder blades. His touch, however fleeting, sends shivers down my spine. "Come. Let us gather our things. We will be off soon."

_What have you done, Keira? _Grumbling quietly, I move to fetch Donovan from his stall. A strange feeling washes over me, however, and I find myself gripping on to Legolas's wrist. The Elf turns towards me, brow knit in worry.

"Is something wrong, Keira?"

I swallow hard. "Legolas, you know me better than anyone here. I care about you a great deal." I force myself to take control of my wavered voice. "It is my duty as Were-rider to protect those most dear to me, but I fear that what ahead of us is beyond my power to control." My eyes grow wide as I gaze up at the Elf, willing him to understand. "King Theoden is leading us to our doom."

Legolas's features soften, and he leans towards me. I fall into him without hesitation, wrapping my arms around his waist and begging myself to never let go. "I've never felt so helpless. To harbor magic requires a great deal of strength and courage, but right now…" I press my forehead into his tunic. "Right now I have none."

The Prince's voice vibrates in his chest. "Do not be ashamed of what you feel, mellon nin. War is not a pleasant affair, and if it were up to me, I would wish for it to be eradicated altogether. But alas that cannot happen." Legolas leans back to look me in the eye. "I may not be able to stop it, but I can promise you something."

"And what would that be?"

"That I will do whatever I can to ensure our survival."

His words ring clear in my ears, and I smile sadly. "Thank you, Legolas."

We remain that way for quite some time, it seems. Holding each other. Guards and townsfolk filter into the sables to fetch their horses, but I cannot bring myself to move. This could quite possibly be the last time I am able to embrace my dear friend.

After a long stretch of silence, Legolas inhales deeply. "We must leave soon."

With a gentle groan I pull away from him. "You're right," I say. "Thank you for your kind words, Legolas. Let us hope that this journey is not in—"

_Keira. _

The voice rattles inside my mind like the beat of a drum. My mouth falls open, and I blink in shock.

Legolas catches on to my queer expression and is quick to respond. "What is wrong, Keira?"

"I—I heard him," I stammer.

"Who?"

_Keira._

Again, the voice vibrates in my ears. My heart pounds against my ribcage, and I look to Legolas.

"Carca," I say numbly. "He's here, Legolas. I feel him."

"How can that be?" he questions. "You said yourself that he is beyond your reach."

"But am I beyond his?"

_Keira, can you hear me?_

_Yes, _I reply. _Yes, I am here. Carca, where have you been? _

_I have not the time to explain. _A bright flash of pain emanates from his mind presence, and I wince. _It is a trap, Keira. Helm's Deep will become your tomb._

Panic sets in, and I place a hand on my forehead. _How do you know of our plans? Where are you?_

_I am being held in the high fortress of Orthanic, _he says lowly. _Saruman's grip on my mind is strong, but he has been preoccupied of late. I cannot tell you why he keeps me alive, only that his motives are indeed dark._

_I will come to you, Carca. Just let me—_

_NO! _His reply is so strong that it nearly deafens me. _No, you cannot. There are too many of them. _

_Too many of what?_

_Orcs. Legions upon legions of Orcs. _More pain aches inside my mind. Our connection falters. _I must go now, Keira, but heed my words. You cannot go to Helm's Deep._

_Carca, wait!_

_Goodbye, my friend._

And like a fleeting winter wind, Carca is gone.

* * *

><p>When at last we depart from the city of Edoras, my heart is heavy with grief and despair. The thundering sound of hoof tread pounds in my ears as hundreds of townspeople flood out through the city gates. Our Fellowship rides ahead of them, with King Theoden acting as the leader of our procession. His white steed bears him at a swift yet stable speed, and Donovan has no trouble keeping pace with it. But while my horse appears to be in good spirits, I am anything but. The words of Carca echo ominously in my ears despite the noises surrounding me.<p>

_Helm's Deep will become your tomb._

"Are you alright, Keira?"

I glance over at Legolas, whose horse canters beside me. "Fine," I reply, feigning a smile. "And yourself?"

The light in his eyes dims substantially. "Well enough, though I fear for the safety of our company."

"As do I, mellon nin." I look off at the horizon, marveling at the long stretch of land that lies before us. "As do I."

A sharp cackle fills the air, moving me to look up in curiosity. Flying up above us is a large raven, its silhouette is framed by the afternoon sun. The creature's dark eyes bore into mine, bearing with them a strange familiarity. I realize then that it was the same bird I encountered shortly before we entered the woods of Fangorn. A look of recognition crosses my face, to which the bird replies by swooping down towards me. I extend my arm, allowing the creature to perch upon it. Its sharp claws bite into the fabric of my new Rohavian attire, which consists of a cream tunic and a leather vest.

"What have you come to me for?" I inquire of it. Legolas looks over at me, his brow furrowed in befuddlement.

The raven raises one of its legs, revealing a small scroll of parchment bound to it. A strange feeling of dread washes over me, and my pulse quickens. My thighs grip hard onto Donovan's sides as I release my hold of his reins, reaching now for the seal of paper.

"A message," says Legolas.

"Aye," I say in reply. My fingers tremble as I untie the scroll from the raven's leg, then unfold it in my palm. The ink is smudged and smeared in places, yet the words written are quite clear to my eyes.

My good lady,

It has come to my knowledge that you and your company have arrived safely in the city of Edoras. I have long since been informed of Carca's capture and imprisonment in in Isenguard, but I fear that there is much more at stake than your companion's life. It has come to my attention that the wizard Saruman has plans to enslave Carca's mind towards his own will. If such a thing were to occur, it would put your life at great risk. Because of this, I have sent to you a new guardian that will stand at your side as your bond once did. He will protect you if any such danger were to arise, for we cannot afford to lose you, as well.

Carca is well beyond both your reach and ours. A raid on Isenguard would be a fool's errand, and thus we can do no more than pray that he is able to withstand the white wizard's powers. I wish you all the luck this dark land can offer.

May the road ahead bear you to safety,

-Skyldr

The note has fallen out of my hand and down beneath Donovan's hooves before I can stop it. As soon as I release it, the raven gives a gentle peck at my sleeve before fluttering up into the sky. A sense of numbness sweeps over me in a great wave, and I feel tears well in my eyes.

"They've given up," I whisper. "My own riders have given up on one of their own."

"Who was it that wrote you?" inquires Gimli. His voice startles me, for I had nigh forgotten that he sits behind Legolas. The dwarf peers around the Elf's lithe frame, eyes squinted against the sunlight.

"His name is Skyldr," I say darkly. "His is one of my greatest warriors. I left him in charge during my leave, and by the looks of things, he has taken his responsibility very seriously."

Legolas tilts his head. I gaze deeply into his eyes before continuing. "Carca is on his own. Neither I nor my riders can aid him now."

"He is strong. Far stronger than any of us." The Prince smiles at me. "Have faith, Keira. Your companion will return to you."

"How can he? Carca is but a single spark amidst a wildfire of opposition. He cannot escape on his own."

"Carca is never on his own." Legolas's eyes swirl with a wisdom that is seldom seen, even in the ancient gaze of the Eldar. Chills tremble down my spine. "You have always been, and shall always be, in his heart," he says. "Words are not always needed to convey another's love. When your need is greatest, he will come to you."

I smile thoughtfully at him. "You're beginning to sound like my father."

My words seem to startle him, and for a moment he falls into silence. "Forgive me, I did not mean to—"

"Legolas, it was meant as a compliment."

The Prince frowns, but his puzzled expression quickly morphs into a gentle smirk. Gimli eyes the two of us with increasing curiosity. I hardly notice.

_Perhaps he's right, Carca, _I ponder silently. _Perhaps you are stronger than I think you to be._

"Thank you." I gaze softly at my friends. "Both of you."

Gimli nods to me, and with a smile of encouragement, Legolas whispers, "He will come."

And with the wind at our backs and a raven's shadow above, we ride on.


	29. Silenced

**_Hello again, lovelies! My goodness it's been so long since I last posted a chapter! I've been on vacation and have had a lot on my plate, but that doesn't mean that I don't have time to update! _**

**_As always, enjoy, and I'd love to get some reviews! It makes my day whenever I read a sweet message. Hope you've all been having a good summer!_**

**_Xoxo_**

**_-PC_**

* * *

><p><em>Red light. The color of blood. It floods through Orthanic's windows in great rays, rippling along the polished marble floors. The chains that bind him grate in protest as he struggles to stand, only to have their brutish weight pull him down once more. Chery foam dribbles from his lips. He is running out of time. Saruman's voice echoes down from the high chamber. The wizard's dark aura weighs on his mind with increasing force, but he will not break. He cannot break. He must be strong. Not for himself, but for her.<em>

_"__Theoden will not stay at Edoras." The strained voice of Grima, an exile of the Rohan, carries through the walls. "It's vulnerable. He knows this. He will expect an attack on the city." There is a tense pause. "They will flee to Helm's Deep, the great fortress of Rohan. It is a dangerous road to take through the mountains. They will be slow."_

Wretched worm, _he thinks with a growl. _Heed my words, Keira. Do not go there.

_"__I am well aware of their plans," Saruman replies. Footsteps clap against marble, and the glowering redness of the room is snuffed out by the shadow of the entry door as it swings open. A snarl itches at his throat as the wizard stands before him, hands clutched onto his staff. Grima follows after him._

_"__Behold," the wizard says. "The key to our victory."_

_The pale man's face contorts in fear. "What creature is this? The likes of it have not been seen for a hundred years."_

_"__It is one of the Breyta, a beastly race all but forgotten. Do not be deceived by its weakened appearance. It would sooner rip your throat out than cower in submission." Saruman raises a hand out towards him, and he bares his fangs. "The Uruk-hai took it captive by the Anduin, as I had ordered. Soon, it will be ready."_

_"__Ready for what, my lord?"_

_The wizard smiles a wicked smile. "War."_

_Rage ignites within him, and with a tremendous roar he lunges. The chains stop him but a hairbreadth short from Saruman's outstretched hand._

_"__You have no power over me," he seethes. "I will not be your slave."_

_"__Then what are you now?" Saruman inquires calmly. "Are you allowing yourself to be held here? Surely not, or by now you would have been reunited with the witch."_

_"__She is no witch." _

_Grima takes a tentative step forward. "Who do you speak of?"_

_"__The Were-rider," says Saruman. "The wench who controls this creature's kin. She has plans of overthrowing our Lord.."_

_"__And she will succeed," he hisses. "You will regret your words, wizard. I will see to it that your death is filled with misery."_

_"__Enough with you!" The white wizard raises his staff, and a massive burst of magic sends him flying backwards. His body contacts the wall with an agonizing thud, and he gives a scream of pain and anger as the chains dig into his flesh. Out of the corner of his eye he watches as Saruman smirks down at him, eyes bright with malice._

_"__Nothing can save her now." _

* * *

><p>"It's true, you don't see many dwarf women. In fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, that they're often mistaken for dwarf men."<p>

Gimli's voice is a good deal louder than the muffled conversations carried out amongst the townspeople. He has been talking without end for the past half-hour, ever since Eowyn offered to lead his horse for him. I cannot help but smile as she looks back at me and Aragorn, who ride behind her.

"It's the beards," the Ranger says, gesturing to his own chin. Eowyn grins and turns back to Gimli.

"This, in turn, has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf women… and that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!" Eowyn gives a shrill laugh. "Which is, of course, ridiculous…" Gimli throws his arms up in emphases. Spooked, his steed lunges forward suddenly, throwing Gimli in the process. I snort aloud, but am quick to slap a hand over my mouth as Eowyn scurries over to aid him.

"It's all right. Nobody panic," he says. "That was deliberate. It was deliberate."

I chuckle. "Sure it was, Gimli. Sure it was."

Theoden, who rides beside Aragorn, grins widely. Eowyn looks back at the both of them, golden locks tossing in the wind. Her eyes glitter with laughter.

"I haven't seen my niece smile in a long time," Theoden says. "She was a girl when they brought her father back dead. Cut down by Orcs. She watched her mother succumb to grief."

I gaze down at the woman, eyes pinched in sorrow despite the smile on my face. Eowyn's past is not all that different from my own, it seems. But thankfully for her, she still had a roof over her head after her father's death. Still had family members to grieve with her.

What I would've given to have been as lucky.

Theoden continues his conversation with Aragorn, but his words have brought back dark memories that I cannot afford to dwell on. To remain here any longer would bring me nothing but sorrow and bitterness.

Spurring Donovan forward, I set my sights towards the head of the group. I need a moment away from the crowds. To be alone with my thoughts. A sharp grackle sounds in my ears as the raven swoops overhead. He tilts his head at me, eyes wide and questioning.

_Don't worry. I'm just going to catch a breath._

The raven hears me. I know he does. But my words have little effect on him, for as soon as I burst free of the long line of people, the creature swoops down to alight my shoulder.

"What are you planning on doing?" he inquires sternly. The deepness of his voice should startle me, but being I know the animal's true identity, it is hardly surprising. I tug at Donovan's reins, pacing him down to a slow trot.

"I need to be alone for a moment," I say.

"Did the king say something to anger you?"

"No."

"Then why do I sense that you are upset?"

I look over at him. "Anca, I appreciate your concern, but I'd rather not speak of it."

The raven seems a bit taken aback. "I did not give you my name. How did you know it was I?"

"Who else would come to me after Carca was taken captive?"

"I assure you, my lady, there were plenty of other volun—"

"He's your half-brother, Anca." I slip my fingers beneath the raven's feet and hold him out before me. "I know you two are not always on the best of terms, but you are his family. I'm sure you're just as worried about him as I am."

Anca shuffles uncomfortably and opens his beak to respond when, suddenly, his body goes rigid. "We have company," he says. As if on cue, the sound of muffled footsteps meets my ears. I look back to see Legolas jogging up beside us. I slow Donovan to a standstill.

"Theoden plans to make camp further down the hill," the elf says. Upon catching sight of my feathered companion, his gaze hardens. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course!" I say, faking a smile. "Anca and I were just catching up on some things."

Legolas squints at me. "You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying!"

"Well you certainly aren't telling me the truth!"

Anca cackles softly. "He knows you well."

"Hush," I snap, flicking my wrist. Anca flutters off me, eyes shining with amusement. "Legolas, please don't worry yourself. I am quite fine."

"There is a difference between worry and concern. I know perfectly well that you can fend for yourself, but as your friend I am tasked with looking after you."

"And why is that?"

The corner of his lip curls ever so slightly. "No one likes to be alone, Keira. Least of all you."

"Since when?"

Legolas blinks softly. "Perhaps that is something you should ask yourself."

"Legolas," I say. "There isn't anyone else in this wide world that is quite like you."

"I doubt that," he says. "Many of my kin share the same thoughts and views as I do. In fact, I am almost certain that—"

"_Legolas." _My voices stops the elf mid-sentence. I gaze over at him, grinning despite my worry. "Is it so difficult for you to take a compliment?"

The Prince observes me for a moment before smirking. "Perhaps."

And then Legolas is gone, disappearing into the throng of villagers until all that's left in his wake are dust and memories.

* * *

><p>"Easy, Donovan!"<p>

My grey horse lets out a panicked scream as I try desperately to calm him. His dark eyes are gripped with fear as they gaze pleadingly into my own. I stand at his side, clutching the reins in one hand and stroking his neck with the other. The animal's nostrils flare out as he shuffles in place.

"What is it, my friend?" I whisper, pressing my forehead against his neck. "What troubles you?"

Donovan nickers uneasily. Frowning, I stroke the tangles out of his mane and watch as the last bleeding drop of sunlight disappears beneath the horizon. Night is now upon us. While the rest of the townsfolk rest atop the far hillside, I have had no other choice but to remain with my skittish horse. In his befuddling state, Donovan might pose a threat to any of those he comes across. One kick from his massive hooves could break bones, and I cannot bring myself to take that risk.

"Hush now." I slowly angle my body until I am standing in front of him. "Calm yourself."

The horse seems to relax a bit. The tension in his neck dissipates beneath my fingers, and his breathing slows. My lips stretch into a smile. "Good lad," I say, running my thumb across his cheek.

"How do you do that?"

This time, I don't have to turn around to know who spoke to me. The voice can belong to no other than Eowyn.

"Do what?" I ask without turning. Donovan looks towards the direction of her voice, ears perked.

"Calm him in such a manner?" The sound of crunching footsteps signifies the woman's approach. Her white dress billows around her as she strides up beside me. Pale fingers stretch out and brush against the stallion's nose.

I glance over at her. "The blood of Elvenkind runs in my veins. Because of that, Donovan and I share an undeniable understanding of one another. We are of a single mind. If I command him, he will obey."

Eowyn remains silent for several moments. "So you are of the half-elven."

"Yes."

"I grew up hearing stories of your kin," she says. "My father used to tell me grand tales of their bravery and courage before he…" All at once, the light in her eyes dims to embers, and her smiles disappears beneath a look of grief.

I gaze over at her in sympathy. Ten years of my life I wore the expression shown now on her fair face. I bore it like a battle scar, for I could not be rid of it. I would not be rid of it. How could I, when so much had gone wrong? Sorrow does dark things when left unchecked. That I know better than anyone.

"You are not alone in your grief," I whisper. My throat clenches upon seeing the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. "I suffered the same pain you feel now. Ten long years I spent roaming the wildlands, reluctant to open up to anyone for fear of having them ripped away as my father was." Slowly, I reach out to place a hand on her shoulder. "You are brave, Eowyn. So very brave. I only wish that I could have born the burden of death so well as you."

_Keira._

Anca's voice echoes inside my mind. I startle slightly, averting my gaze to watch as a feathered shape glides down from the heavens.

"What is it now?" I demand.

"My lady?" inquires Eowyn. "Is something the matter?"

The raven flutters onto my shoulder. His sharp claws dig through the thin material of my tunic, and I winch audibly. _Dark things lurk about in the shadows,_ he says. "_I have called for a gathering at the high peaks not far from here. Once we have gotten far enough from the group, I will take you there. It is too dangerous to venture on foot. You could be wounded_.

Glancing at Eowyn, I reach up and stroke Anca's feathers. "Not at all," I say. "This wayward messenger bird has been following me for some time. I dare say I've taken to liking his company."

Messenger_ bird? Forgive me, my liege, but could you possibly select other title?_

_Just go with it, Anca._

"How odd," says Eowyn, observing the two of us.

"Quite." I shoot Anca a knowing look and feign a smile. "Now forgive me, my lady, but I fear that I must have I word with my little friend here. We have a connection, you see, much similar to mine and Donovan's. He seems to want something of me."

"Of course." Eowyn turns and makes her way back up the hillside. Once she is out of earshot, Anca severs our mental connection in order to speak aloud.

"My kin are worried for the wellbeing of one of their own, Were-rider."

All at once, my pleasant mood vanishes. "Carca." Anca nods. "But what of Skyldr's message?" I ask. "Would you be so bold as to forsake his will?"

"Skyldr's will means nothing if you give the order."

"But I… Anca, my place is here. Carca himself forbad me from going after him."

"Leave that much to the rest of us," he says. "Were-rider, you must see that he is running out of time. I have no doubt of his strength, but not even the strongest of Breyta can endure torture of the mind for very long." His eyes bore into my own as he continues. "Your path leads elsewhere, but ours does not. I agree that Carca would not want you to endanger your life in a rescue mission. Therefore we will attempt one in your place."

"But the risks!" I cry. "Saruman's hold is too strong. He would kill you before you step foot in that tower."

"Not if our warriors can help it," Anca says. "Have faith in us, Keira. Now we must make haste. I would like to be rid of this dreadful form at the earliest convenience."

Sighing, turn back to face Donovan. "Stay here," I tell him. "And do not move until I return."

The horse dips his head, acknowledging my words. I nod to him before pivoting on heel and heading East. A menacing ridge of rock lines the near horizon, and I can just barely make out several dark forms circling up above them. Five, to be exact. Anca would only have summoned our most hardened and experienced warriors. Back when Celeb was still alive, she headed the group. After all, she was the Eldest, as well as the strongest, both mentally and physically. None would dare oppose her leadership. Now that title has been passed to another. Skyldr, a massive white Breyta whose skills in battle are seconded only to Carca. He is an imposing figure, standing taller than both Carca and Anca, and with only one functional eye. The other has become so clouded and fogged that it no longer resembles an eye at all, but rather a white orb. No doubt Anca has kept him in the dark about this mission.

_I hope you know what you're doing, Anca._

* * *

><p>A long half-hour passes by before we are far enough away from the others to allow Anca to revert back into his Breytian form. By now, the crackling campfires that once blazed as bright as the sun are now distant slivers of orange. The air around us is silent, save for the lonesome cries of a coyote somewhere far out in the distance.<p>

"We're in the clear," I call up to Anca. "You are free to shift whenever you please." Wind whistles over the raven's wings as he swoops down from the heavens, landing several feet in front of me. His bright eyes gleam with anticipation as he extends his wings. A golden glow emanates from his breast as thick tendrils of magic seep out from his feathers, enveloping his body in a glittering cocoon. Captivated, I watch as the raven's dark form begins to swell, becoming larger and larger until it stretches nearly a head taller than me. His ebony beak disapates into a cloud of shimmering mist as a canine snout sprouts in its place. Angular ears emerge from the feathers overlaying his head before those, too, disappear, revealing amber fur tucked away beneath them. Massive forelegs bud from Anca's chest as his hind limbs thicken into muscular stumps. His hind feathers shrink away, and a wolf's tail grows in their place.

Lastly, the raven's wings elongate until I am fully engulfed in their consuming shadow. Anca rears up, flexing his mighty limbs, just as the last of his golden fur spreads back into place. The raven is gone. In its place lies a creature far more powerful than a simple bird could ever hope to be.

"At last," Anca sighs, falling back onto all fours. "I can be rid of that ghastly disguise."

Grinning, I reach out to stroke his neck. "You've grown, my friend."

"So I've been told."

Anca has grown so much, in fact, that he is forced to lower himself in order for me to mount him. I grab fistfuls of his thick neck fur, praying that is enough to keep me seated atop him during our flight.

The Breyta chuckles at my obvious worry. "Hold fast, my leige, and I will ensure that you do not fall."

"That's not very reassuring."

"Either way, I'm afraid it will have to do." Anca heaves a mighty roar before leaping into a sprint. Frosty winds tear at my eyes as he gathers speed across the plains. His wings pump alongside him, gaining us momentum with every earth-shattering pulse. Then, with one last powerful thrust, we're airborne. Anca streaks into the night sky like a fiery comet, sending us high up into the clouds before plunging back down to earth. When at last he levels out, my voice is hoarse from shrieking.

"Valar forbid, Anca, are you trying to get me killed?"

"Wererider, you amuse me," he says. "For all the stories I've heard of your ferocity in battle, you sound as terror-stricken as a pup taking its first flight."

"Do not be so quick to judge, Anca. I can still incinerate you."

Grating laughter fills the air as he banks towards the high peaks. The various Breyta have become aware of our approach. The silence of the night is broken by a chorus of howls as the group acknowledges my presence. A great length of time has passed since last I spoke with the Warriors' Council. I can only pray that they are able to see reason through their lust for revenge.

Anca circles over the nearest peak before touching down on a large outcropping that overlooks the Rohavian plains. Smoothing my hair back from my face, I slide down from Anca's back and await the others. Hardly a moment has passed before the first warrior alights before me. Though the sparse lighting might make it difficult to see the Breyta's face in detail, it is impossible to mistake the fire-red coat of Valdra as she paces towards me. Unlike the others of her kin, Valdra has chosen not to bear a rider. After both her parents were killed by the Lypta, she chose not to bind herself to any one person, be it an elf or a human. Her heart could not cope with another loss.

"Greetings, Wererider," she purrs, bowing deeply.

"It has been far too long, Valdra," I say. The Breyta blinks slowly at me, her deep green eyes alive with morbid curiosity.

Next to arrive are Thalin and Thalias, the dark-coated Breyta twins, along with their riders, Gondien and Thorontur. Both are elves hailing from the woods of Lothlorien. I greet them all, only to be met with the arrival of another Breyta. Gwador glides down from the starlit sky, allowing the moonlight to glint off of his silvery hide as he lands beside the others. His rider, Averil, dismounts him with a grunt.

"My lady," she says, clasping an arm over her chest. "We are well met, even in such dark times as these."

"I am pleased to see you are well, Wererider," rumbles Gwador. Black markings travel alongside the bridge of his nose and up around his violet eyes, giving him a menacing appearance.

"And I, you," I reply. Scanning the group briefly, I come to realize that we are missing two. Bragol and his bond have yet to show.

As if reading my mind, one of the twins steps forward. "Bragol is coming. He was… diverted during his approach."

I frown at him. "Diverted? By what means?"

"I haven't a clue. He only said that he would be here at the soonest possible—"

The Breyta is cut off by a roar as loud as a thunderclap. Looking up, I watch as an enormous shadow swoops down onto the outcropping. Gwador and Thalian scramble to the side to avoid being crushed beneath the massive form of Bragol as he lands heavily upon the rock. One of his wings slaps against Valdra's shoulder, moving her to snarl at him. Bragol hardly acknowledges her warning as he folds in the great structures, revealing the form of his rider sitting top him. I wrinkle my nose.

"Ancelin," I say dryly, "I am pleased that you could arrive so quickly. I trust you had a safe flight?"

"Indeed," he says. Ancelin slides down from his mount and removes his riding helmet, revealing an angular face and striking green eyes. There's something about the man that has always unsettled me. Even Anca seems to regard him more coolly than the rest of the warriors.

Pushing my wariness of him aside, I speak out to address the gathering. "Good warriors, I presume that you all have been made aware Carca's capture." Nods and murmurs ripple throughout the gathering. A ball of ice grows in my stomach, and I struggle to keep my composure. "Losing him has never been an option to me, but now that he's gone, I have been made sure of the fact that none are safe whilst Saruman's forces roam these lands. In less than a week's time, the people of Edoras will have arrived at the fortress of Helm's Deep. There, Theoden King believes they will be protected from the wizard's hand of destruction. I know better than this. During his capture, Carca managed to warn me of Saruman's intentions of storming Helm's Deep in several days' time." I pause briefly. "The broken remnants of the Fellowship will be joining the king's men in the upcoming battle against the Uruk-hai. I cannot leave them to fight this war without my aid.

"During the brief connection we shared, Carca also informed me that he is being kept in the tower stronghold of Orthanic, the location in which Saruman's army will shortly be departing. There, the wizard struggles to break his mind and mold it to his own will. I am certain that we all know he will not succeed. Carca…" My voice catches, and I am once against forced to pause. "Carca would sooner die than have himself be turned against the ones he loves. His life-force is weakening as we speak." Glancing towards Anca, I let out a sigh. "But I cannot be in two places at once, which is why Anca has called you here. He knows of my plans to aid the army at Helm's Deep. He also knows that during that time, I will be unable to aid Carca in any way. Our Headmaster, Skyldr, has deemed rescuing him as an impossible task because of this. Anca has told me otherwise."

"Carca's need is dire," says Anca, stepping forward. "Skyldr thinks that he can resist, that he can miraculously escape and rejoin us after the battle. We know better than to believe such speculations. My brother's strength can only last so long. I know I speak for all of us when I say that Carca is not only a vital warrior, but also a friend. We cannot afford to lose him. Not with war looming on the horizon."

"You would have us attempt a rescue without our leader?" barks Valdra.

"Keira is our main asset, make no mistake, but her priorities are not just with us. She has hundreds of men relying on her to fight with them. If she were to abandon them now, there's no telling what would happen."

"Does your bond no longer come above all else, Wererider?" Gondien inquires. "Would you abandon him to aid a cause hardly worthy of your assistance?"

Anca bristles at Gondien's words, and blood rushes to my cheeks. "You will watch your tongue," I hiss. "Carca means everything to me. He is the reason I am still living. Without him, I would be stuck wandering the wilderlands. But for me to join you would mean death for us all. It's not Carca that Saruman wants. It's me. And if he were to succeed in my capture…" I grit my teeth. "He would kill my bond at the first opportunity."

My words are met with a stiff silence broken only by Anca. "Keira expressed great concern at the thought of sending us to Carca's aid, but even she cannot deny that it must be done. Compared to Carca, the rest of us are simply pawns. His life is worth more to this war and to her than any of ours. We cannot lose him. The sooner we all accept that, the better. What say you in return?"

Thalin paces forward. "I do not deny that Carca needs our help, but how could such a feet even be attempted? Skyldr is right. Othanic is heavily guarded. It would be nine of us against thousands of them!"

"The trek from Orthanic to Helm's Deep will not be an easy one, or a short one," I say. "The Uruks will have to depart soon. Wait until the army has left to plan your means of attack. Saruman will not think to expect a seige on the tower; he will presume that I've ordered you all to Helm's Deep."

"And if our plan fails?" demands Thorontur.

I swallow hard. "Then you will have died doing what is right."

"What of Saruman?" hisses Valdra. "May we see to it that his life ends at the tip of our fangs?"

"Not unless you are provoked," I say. "The wizard is corrupt, albeit, but he is also incredibly powerful. The likes of him should not be trifled with, as I will not be among you to counteract his spells. You are to leave him be unless there is no other choice."

Another silence, long and thick, fills the air. Then, after a tense moment, Valdra speaks again. "I will not leave my kinsman to be tortured by that magic-wielding abomination. Be it your will, Wererider, I will abide." I blink gratefully at her.

"I, too, would be honored with this deed." Gwador comes to stand beside the red Breyta.

"And I."

"And I."

"And we, as well."

Thorontur, Gondien, and the twins all come to join them. Anca follows suit.

And then there were two.

Ancelin and Bragol remain fixed to their original positions. Both regard me with cold, calculated gazes.

"You are our leader, Wererider," Ancelin says mildly. "It seems that we are at an odds. If you wish to see half your warriors obliterated for the sake of one, then it is not my place to argue."

Anger stirs in my veins at Ancelin's sinister words. "If you feel so comfortable as to address me in such a way, than by all means, give your opinion. Why would you not wish to rescue your own commander?" I lace the final word with all the poison and malice that I can muster. Ancelin sneers ever so slightly, and a low growl rumbles in Bragol's throat.

"If I recall correctly, Skyldr is our Headmaster, not Carca. I think this raid will be futile. At a time such as this, our forces should be training in the art of warfare, not preforming rescue missions. Carca has survived on his own for many years. He has been through torment just like the rest of us. What makes you think that Sklydr is so wrong? What makes you think that he cannot escape on his own?"

"You truly ask that of me?"

Ancelin juts out his chin. "I say that we let Carca take care of himself. If he's as strong as you all seem to think he is, I don't see why we should risk our lives for a cause that will likely be pointless."

His words are met with an uproar. Both Breyta and riders alike exchange cries of outrage, all of which are silenced when I raise my hand. My heartbeat pounds in my fingertips as I stride towards Ancelin, each step becoming more and more forceful.

"You would let him die?" I whisper. "You would let your leader's bond die while you stand by and _watch?" _An inhuman strength floods my limbs, and in one fluid motion I have gripped hold of the collar of his tunic and heaved him up into the air. Ancelin cries out in surprise as I tighten my grip, allowing my jagged nails to cut into his neck. My eyes seer as a burning red light glows from my irises. Bragol steps forward, as if to intervene, but one scathing glance from Anca is enough to stop him in his tracks.

A hush falls over the group as I glower at the man, willing all my anger to seep into my voice as I continue: "I hold the power to kill you in any way that I please. You have proven that you value your own worthless hide more than a Breyta whose life is worth a hundred of yours. And now, I will give you a choice." Raising up my free hand, I summon a ball of golden fire. "Swear by your life that you will do all in your power to help free Carca, or be banished for our order forever."

The man's face grows deathly pale as an audible gasp ripples amongst the Breyta. Anca simply smirks. "But… You can't… You can't do that," stammers Ancelin. "You wouldn't!"

"If you do not think me capable of this, then you do not know me at all." I stare deeply into his eyes. "Give me your answer, or I shall decide it for you."

Ancelin gasps quietly, his gaze flickering towards Bragol. The Breyta watches him in silence before glancing towards me. Then, casting one last look at his bond, the great beast bows his head in submission. Tears well in Ancelin's eyes as he realizes the gravity of his actions.

"Forgive me…" he whispers, "I have been blind, Wererider. I will… help Carca, as you have commanded. Please forgive me." A single tear drips from his lashes before rolling down onto my hand. Despite the anger coursing through me, my heart pangs for him. Though his sharp tongue may make him seem older, Ancelin is barley thirty. He is young still, and has much to learn.

Drawing in a deep breath, I lower him until his feet are resting firmly upon the ground. "You are forgiven," I say. A sigh of relief echoes from Bragol as I release him. Ancelin falls facedown before my feet, weeping openly.

"Thank you," he whimpers. "I swear to serve you without question, my lady."

I observe him in silence before saying, "Ancelin." The man looks up at me. Slowly, I allow my anger to fade. "Have faith in yourself. You may yet prevail."

"Wererider."

I glance over, watching as Anca paces to my side. "I would wish to stand by you during the battle of Helm's Deep, yet I fear that you would not have me do so."

"And you are right," I say. "You ordered this mission. Go with them, Anca. They need you."

The golden wolf nods grimly. "We will formulate our strategy at dawn."

I find myself saddened by his dark tone. Anca is no fool. He knows that odds of them rescuing Carca will be slim, yet he is confident enough to lead his kin into battle. "Thank you, Anca," I whisper, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "Thank you."

The flight back to the camp is brief. Anca is forced to land a reasonable distance away, as to not be seen by any prying eyes. There's no telling what the men might do if they saw me with him. At the very least my cover would be blown, and I'd have King Theoden to answer to.

Nonetheless, I bid farewell to the golden Breyta and trudge reluctantly back into the company of men. While my body remains here with the Fellowship, my soul is bond with Carca's. Locked away in some terrible cell with nothing but pain and darkness to act as company. Without hope, without a chance of escape. With nothing left to live for but each other.

_Take care of yourself, Wererider, _Anca whispers in my mind. _We shall see you at the finish._

Then, like a fraying rope that has held to much, the connection snaps, and Anca's presence fades away into the dark recesses of time.

Alone, I gaze up at the stars, my thoughts of nothing but Carca. His image flashes before my eyes. He lies upon a cold stone floor, surrounded by pools of his own blood. Deep scars lash across his body, and heavy chains render him unable to move. And his eyes… his bright, beautiful eyes have grown dull from pain and suffering. Carca. Strong, courageous Carca, is completely and utterly helpless.

_Oh, my love, what I done?_

And as I make the long, lonesome trek back to sanctuary, I weep.

* * *

><p>Dawn comes. The air about the land is cold and bitter as I come to, struggling to open my swollen eyes. When at last I succeed, I am met with a strange sight. From my vantage point on the hilltop, I see that the villagers have already begun to move on. Aragorn and Theoden ride up ahead of them, leading the group off at a brisk yet stable pace. Donovan nickers softly, nudging my leg with his hoof. The horse must have come to me sometime during the night.<p>

"Valar forbid, the half-wits left me." Grumbling, I gather my things as quickly as I am able and tie them to Donovan's saddle. I hoist myself up onto him and spur him forward with a nudge of the heel. Donovan sets off at a fast gallop. His hooves pound against the hard turf as he struggles to regain ground. The others may not be travelling fast, but there is considerable distance between us and them that we must make up for.

I am so concentrated on reaching our destination, however, that I don't notice the white shape speeding directly towards us until we're feet from collision.

Donovan lets out a scream and digs his hooves into the ground, trying desperately to slow himself. I wrench back on the reigns, and he rears up out of fright. The approaching creature—a white horse—mirrors his panicked reaction. The two animals come to a grinding halt just inches from each other.

"What in the blazes is wrong with you?" I screech.

The white stallion steps to the side, and I nearly fall of my horse when I see Legolas sitting atop him, eyes wide with shock and confusion. For a long moment we simply stare at each other, neither one of us sure of what to say.

Then he speaks. "I was coming to wake you," he says quickly. "The others are already moving."

"Well I think I'm quite awake now, Legolas!" Cheeks burning with embarrassment, I usher Donovan forward. He sets pace at a fast trot, snorting his displeasure at Arod.

"What on earth is wrong with him?" I mutter, wiping drips of sweat from my brow.

"I meant no ill will, Keira." Legolas's steed canters up beside us. The elf gazes over at me, but I refuse to look him in the eye. Legolas simply shakes his head. "If you're still angered with me like you were last night, then tell me so at once. I will leave you be."

I blink once. "What happened last night?"

Legolas looks at me in disbelief. "You don't remember?"

"No. I'm afraid it's all a blur." My chest heaves in a sigh. "I don't know what I said, but whatever it may have been, just know this. I'm not angered with you, Legolas. I'm just… torn."

He frowns. "In what way?"

"I'd rather not talk about it." I close my eyes briefly before looking over at him. "Go to others, Legolas. I'm afraid I won't make for a very invigorating riding companion."

Much to my surprise, the elf does not leave. He simply watches me, as if searching for a clue to uncover my troubles. "Come with me," he says softly. "Perhaps being with them will help clear your mind."

I open my mouth, as if to protest, but Legolas shoots off before I get the chance. I roll my eyes and ride after him.

* * *

><p><em>Give in, Wererider."<em>

_The drake towers up over me, his golden head wreathed in flame. Ruby eyes bore relentlessly into my own. Hollow. Souless. The eyes of a monster. Karr flicks his tongue, splattering my face with droplets of magma. I resist the impulse to scream in pain as the liquid seers into my skin. "Don't you see?" he hisses. "I've already won. Your precious companions are all but eradicated."_

_"__No," I spit back. "No, you're lying."_

_"__See for yourself." Karr steps to the side, revealing the bloody carcasses of hundreds of fallen men and orcs. Among the dead lie the remains of seven larger forms. Breyta warriors, all beaten and broken beyond recognition. Their wings jut out at awkward, impossible angles. One beast still struggles to draw breath, his body shuddering with effort._

_Tears well in my eyes as I gaze down at the corpses. "It can't be."_

_"__Oh, but it can," sneers the serpent. "And now, you're all that's standing between me and domination." Karr raises up his right foreleg, revealing a dark from lying motionless between his claws. My heart skips a beat as I catch a glimpse of ebony fur and midnight wings. _

_"__Carca," I whisper, then louder, "Carca! Wake up, Carca!"_

_The drake chuckles, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Nothing can save him now." Before I have a chance to scream his name, Karr opens his jaws and releases a plume of white-hot flame that slams directly into the Breyta's limp body. All at once, the fire turns his flesh to ash, leaving nothing but charred bones in its wake. An agonized cry tears from my lungs, and I fall to my knees, clawing at the blood-caked ground beneath me. _

_"__Monster!" I wail. "Murderer!" Something hot arises in my stomach, and my muscles seize in protest as beams of light burst free from the palms of my hands. They rocket up into the heavens, spiraling higher and higher into the ebony clouds, before slamming back down to earth. All at once, I am enveloped in a whirlwind of magic. The tendrils swirl around my body in a crystalline funnel, bleeding down into my very soul. I extend my hands out on either side of me, embracing it with open arms. _

_Carca's skeleton clatters to the ground as Karr drops to all fours, hissing his rage. But even he cannot prevent what is about to unfold. I am no longer Keira Nightingale, a lowly half-breed turned warrior. I am something much, much more._

_Pain bursts from my fingertips as my nails begin to elongate, stretching into long, sharpened daggers. Heavy horns sprout from my forehead as my face stretches into a serpentine snout. My teeth sharpen into massive fangs, and enormous fleshy wings rip free from my shoulder blades. Skin drips from my flesh, replaced instead with ivory scales that glitter with fire. My entire body swells with might as fire erupts from my mouth, followed by an inhuman scream. _

_"__WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"_

* * *

><p>"No!"<p>

I awaken from my stupor with a sharp jolt, panting fiercely. My skin is coated with a thin film of sweat that glistens beneath the sunlight. I was asleep for only a minute, if even that. Thankfully, I've still managed to stay mounted on Donovan. It would've been very embarrassing indeed if I were to have fallen off during my brief attempt to rest.

"What was that, my lady?" inquires Eowyn, striding up beside me.

Blinking against the harsh light, I force a smile as I look down at her. "Nothing. Just talking to myself."

The smaller woman watches me for a moment, pondering over my words, then moves to speak just as the sound of fast hoof treads signals a rider's approach. Frowning, I look round to see Hasufel cantering up beside me, with Aragorn atop him.

"Legolas has gone to scout up ahead," he says. "If it interests you, I'm sure he would be glad to have your company."

"Thank you for informing me, Aragorn," I reply smoothly. "It would be my pleasure to join him."

The Ranger smiles before saying, "He's lucky to have you as a friend, my lady."

My heart lurches at the man's kindness, and I blush. "You're too kind, Aragorn." Turning back towards Eowyn, I am hardly surprised to find her gaze focused on the Ranger. If it were any other man she was admiring, I would be glad for her. But Aragorn is no other man. His affections have already been placed. There is no denying that his love for Elrond's daughter will overcome all obstacles, including flutter-eyed mortal girls. I only wish that Eowyn would come to realize that Aragorn is not the lover she seeks.

Spurring Donovan forward, I guide the horse past the throngs of people and animals before ushering him up onto a nearby hillside. Legolas stands upon the very crest, looking out on the land below.

Donovan's pounding hooves give away our approach, for no sooner have I dismounted than Legolas says, "Decided to join me, have you?" A smirk plays across my lips as I make my way over to him.

"I wouldn't want you to have all the fun," I say, brushing my shoulder against his. "Aragorn told me you were up here. What is on your mind?"

"I simply wanted to look upon what lies ahead of us," he says. "I've had a feeling these past few days. A growing dread, like something terrible is about to unfold."

"Perhaps it is the battle you forsee?"

"Intuition, Keira, not foresight. I do not possess such skills as to look into the future." He sighs deeply, worry glazing over his sapphire eyes. "But no, it is not the battle that I sense. It is a different threat; smaller, but more cunning. I feel as though we're being hunted."

I frown at him. "By what?"

"I do not know." Legolas falls into a momentary silence before looking over at me. "Let not my own troubles become yours. It is merely a feeling; nothing more."

"Don't try to ignore what your inner sense is trying to tell you, Legolas." I reach out and place my hand on his arm. "Without it, I dare say we would never have made it this far."

The Elf smiles. "I'm happy you chose to join me."

"The feeling is mutual," I say. We exchange a long glance, and I find myself speaking again. "I am so sorry for how I behaved, even if I cannot remember all that was said. It's just…" My mouth clamps shut. I can't tell him. He has enough on his plate as it is.

"Just what?" When I do not reply, Legolas steps in front of me, forcing me to look at him. "_Keira."_

For a moment I remain motionless, refusing to say more. But when I look into his eyes, when I see the beauty and depth and kindness within them, the words come tumbling out. "I've sent them to their doom."

He raises his brows, urging me to say more.

"My warriors. The Breyta," I specify, "They… they wanted to organize a rescue for Carca, despite their Headmaster's heed against it. I agreed to let them do so." Fear prickles at the nape of my neck as I relive the events of the past evening. "I didn't know what to do. Carca is my bond, and my protector. I couldn't leave him to rot in that miserable tower. Skyldr was wrong. I knew he was, and I tried to deny it. Now it has become clear that no one can escape the clutches of the wizard, not even one so powerful as my companion. To do nothing would be to sentence him to death."

Legolas raises his eyebrows. "Do you mean to say that you're leaving us?"

"No!" My reply is louder than I intended. Regret knaws at my insides like a ravenous beast as I think on what my companion must be going through. I sigh heavily. "No, I can't leave. Not with the battle looming over our heads." I pause, envisioning the bright golden eyes of Carca. "He wouldn't want me to abandon those with whom my allegiance lies."

"Nor would he want you risking your life for his." The Elf gazes off into the horizon, and I watch as the sun melts his hair into liquid platinum. "How many of the Breyta volunteered themselves?"

"Five, with four of them bearing riders. I can only hope that it is enough to infiltrate Saruman's hold. My hope is that the wizard is too preoccupied with Carca to take notice of them. Orc guards can be dealt with, but I have instructed them to attack only after their legions have dispatched for Helm's Deep."

"Smart. I doubt that a great many will be left behind." Legolas folds his arms. "But how exactly do they plan to deal with Saruman himself?"

"My hope is that they won't have to. My warriors are clever. They will wait until the wizard is distracted to free Carca. Getting in will be the easy part. It's getting out that will pose the greatest threat."

"How will you know if their mission was successful?"

I smile. "I'll feel him again. My mind is so empty now that I could sense even the weakest of presences. Once he is free of Saruman's grasp, Carca will be able to contact me freely."

"And how long with that take?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

I set my jaw. "How much they've twisted him."

Legolas opens his mouth to reply, but his voice is drowned out by the oncoming clamor of galloping horses. The noise is sudden, unexpected. I step up to the edge of the overlook and watch as two horsemen burst out from the throng of villagers and proceed down the path beneath us. My brow knits in confusion, and I glance over to see Legolas wearing the same expression.

"What are they up to?" I mutter. The horsemen disappear from view, and I narrow my eyes. Suddenly, the sound of hoof tread ceases, and a frightened squeal emanates from somewhere below us. Blood turns to ice in my veins. I whip around, heart pounding as I sense a large presence on the cliffs neighboring us.

"Oh Valar." Stumbling forwards, I reach the far side of the overlook just in time to watch as an enormous Warg bounds down from the rocks and slams into on of the unsuspecting horseman. The force of the blow is enough to throw him from his steed, whose chest has been shredded to ribbons. "Legolas!" I shriek, just as one of the men lets out a bone-chilling cry of, _"WARGS!"_

In the blink of an eye I unsheathe my daggers and sprint down from the overlook, with Legolas hot on my heels. The Elf strings his bow and loosens an arrow into the Warg's chest. The beast screeches in pain as it collapses, flinging its rider to the ground. The black-eyed Orc struggles to regain its footing, but it is far too late. Screaming my rage, I leap into the air and bear down on the ghastly beast. The bite of my daggers is cold and swift. The Orc is hardly able to scream in protest before I have split its neck open. Hot blood spatters me in the face as I wrench my blades from the carcass.

"A scout!" shouts Legolas. Wiping the gore from my skin, I rush over to where one of the horsemen's limp bodies lies. I don't have to check his pulse to know he's dead. The Warg carved a massive hole in the man's throat, exposing the bloodied flesh within. A ball of ice settles in my stomach as I recognize the battered face to be that of Hama, one of the king's guards.

"You will be avenged," I say, bending down to close his eyes.

"Keira!" Legolas's shout moves me to rise up. The Elf hurries over to where I stand, eyes bright with the frenzy of battle. "Come quickly now, to the top of the hill. We will have a better vantage point from there." I nod to him. The remaining horseman thunders past us, presumably to alert King Theoden of the coming onslaught.

"There are sure to be plenty more of them," I say to Legolas, jogging to his side. The Elf does not respond, but a distinct curl in his lip acts as answer enough.

Legolas and I rush to the hilltop, coming to halt upon a large rock jutting out from its jagged edge. My suspicions are quickly confirmed as dozens of dark shapes begin to pour out from the rolling plains. Howls and shouts mingle together to create an imposing cacophony that drills into my ears.

"My word," I whisper. "We're in for a good fight."

Legolas clenches his bow until his knuckles are white with strain. "We must get closer if I am to get a clear shot." Our gazes meet. "You have not a bow. Go back to the horsemen."

"No," I say fiercely. "I will stand by your side."

The Elf does not argue, but his eyes are filled with conflict as he replies, "So be it."

Together we rush back down the knoll and out onto the open plains. The braying of the wolves of Isenguard draws ever nearer, yet it does not faze me. How could it? I have faced far greater foes during my many excursions with Carca. It would take much more to strike fear in my heart.

After a long few seconds of running, we finally come upon a large grassy mound on which to retaliate fire. Arrow after arrow sails free of Legolas's bow, each finding marks in the flesh of both Wargs and Orcs alike. My hands sizzle with orbs of magic as I recall one of my many lessons with Celeb, in which she taught me how to strike distant targets. Concentrating my focus on my right palm, I extend it out before me and allow the grip of magic to take hold. A massive white spearhead, crackling and sparkling with weakly-contained power, shards out from it before streaking off towards the approaching Wargriders. I manuveer the object towards the nearest beast, setting it on a direct course towards the Warg's chest cavity. Then, with a sharp exhale, I release my grip.

The wolf has next to no time to react as the magical conjuration plunges deep into its ribcage, stopping it in its tracks. But that is not all I have in store for it. The moment the Warg's corpse hits the ground, the magic explodes, sending shards of lightning spearing out into nearby wolves, felling three. Waves of blue energy permeate where the incident occurred, moving other Wargriders to guide their beasts around them.

"What an unpleasant way to die," mutters Legolas. A sporatic strand of magic lashes out at another Warg, separating its head from its shoulders in one clean blow. I resist the impulse to cringe.

Suddenly, the ground beneath us begins to quake with the sound of many tramping hooves. Looking over my shoulder, I watch as a large gathering of horsemen bleeds out onto the plains, with Theoden and Aragorn at their head. Arod and Gimli emerge from the center of the pack, with Donovan galloping beside them. Legolas pivots on heel, grips hold of his horse's chest straps and swings himself up onto the creature's back. With that he rides off in pursuit of the other soldiers.

_Showoff, _I hiss inwardly, then aloud, "Donovan! Come to me, Donovan!"

My call rings clear despite the thunderous racket stirred up by the horses. Donovan slows as he approaches, just enough so that I am able to mount him without being thrown off.

"To battle, Donovan!" I cry. "Let your pace be swift, and your heart be strong!"

The horse lunges forward, foam frothing at his lips. Gritting my teeth, I wrap the reins around my left hand and unsheathe a dagger with the other. Blood from my previous kill still glistens on the blade's edge. It drizzles from the hilt and snakes its way down my fingers. Hot and thick, a reminder of the horrors of battle.

Theoden's war cry bellows out from up ahead, followed by a series of shrieks and howls from the Wargs and their riders. Then, with the deafening clash of metal and flesh, the battle commences.

Beastly faces blur past me as I slash down upon my opponents, sending clumps of fur and blood spraying into the air. Cries of pain sound from Theoden's riders as many are wrenched from their saddles, then ripped apart by massive fangs. Donovan squeals as a Warg smashes into his side, nearly bowling the two of us over. The hideous wolf snarls and snaps as the horse rears up in his fright. Trying desperately to calm him, I yank back on the reins and lash out with my dagger. The blade slices a wide gash across the Warg's muzzle before finding refuge in its neck. A terrible scream tears out from the beast's mouth as it paws at its injuries. The Orcish rider hisses maliciously, raising up its sword, only to be silenced with an arrow to the throat. Arod and Legolas thunder past us, and Gimli leaps down from the horse's saddle in order to face off with a riderless Warg standing not far from Donovan and myself. The creature hardly seems to acknowledge him as it gorges itself on the corpse of a fallen horseman.

"Bring your pretty face to my axe!" hollers the dwarf. Rolling my eyes, I slap Donovan's reins against his neck. The horse lunges into a gallop, eager to reenter the battle.

We have barely made it twenty feet when a stabbing pain erupts in my thigh.

Crying out, I glance down to see an Orc hanging onto the stirrups of the saddle, its black dagger embedded in my leg. A grin spreads across its bloody lips, and the creature wrenches its blade sideways just as I slash its neck with my longknife. The Orc gurgles its last and tumbles to the ground, but not before carving a terrible wound into Donovan's side. The horse screams as the sharp Orcish blade cuts a jagged line through his flesh, tearing through skin and muscle until it clatters against the bone. A tremor runs the length of his body, and he stumbles.

"Donovan!" I wail. "Keep going, Donovan! Don't give up now!"

I know my efforts are in vain. I know it the moment I look into his eyes. Agony and sorrow swirl in their deep brown depths, and I know he can go no farther. With a groan of agony, Donovan's forelegs collapse beneath him, and he tumbles to the ground. I barely managed to slide from his back before the horse rolls onto his side, wheezing with strain. Tears threaten to blur my vision as I gaze down at my injured horse. Blood seeps out from the stab wound on my thigh, but I hardly feel it. The only thing going through my mind is rage.

Pure, blind rage.

Unsheathing my second blade, I position myself in front of Donovan, guarding him from any beasts that dare to attack us. One Warg rider is quick to notice my disposition and directs its steed towards me, only to be felled by a passing horseman.

Minutes upon minutes of more bloodshed pass, and then, just as quickly as it began, the fight is over. Stray Wargs and Orcs are shot down by archers while the remaining horsemen survey the destruction. But I care not for the corpses, nor does the tragedy of death hang over my head. Not yet, anyway.

Craddling Donovan's head in my lap, I comb my fingers through his mane while whispering Elvish incantations. My powers, weakened still from the Uruk-hai and now by the battle, are not strong enough to heal his wounds or mine. His wound has stopped bleeding, but much to my dismay, I cannot take away the damage that has already been wrought. He will have to overcome that on his own, for now.

"Rest now, my friend," I say, pressing my temple against his. "You have nothing to fear."

"My lady." Glancing up, I watch as King Theoden makes his way over to me. "The horse's injuries are grave. He will not recover in time."

"Are you suggesting I leave him here, my liege?" I inquire bitterly.

The man seems taken aback by my harsh tone, but says nothing of it. "I am suggesting that you put the poor beast out of his misery. He's been through enough."

Tears threaten to leak out of my eyes, and I look away. "Forgive me, my liege, but I will not give up on him. I… I can't give up on him."

"Aragorn!"

Legolas's sharp cry draws Theoden's attention as well as mine. The elf frantically scans the blood-stained turf, searching for his friend. Gimli, too, calls for the Ranger, but to no avail. Frowning, I look down at Donovan, then back up to Theoden. The King simply says, "Heed my words," before striding off to survey the damage.

Then, my ears pick up a sound. A rasping kind of laughter coming from the edge of the cliff. Legolas and Gimli hear it, also. They both rush over in its direction, and I sneer upon noting the dying Orc responsible for the noise.

"Tell me what happened and I will ease your passing," hisses Gimli, hoisting up his axe.

In a choked voice, the Orc replies. "He's…dead." My heart skips a beat. "He took a little tumble off the cliff."

Mirroring my own disbelief, Legolas lashes out and grips the Orcs neck. "You lie!"

The miserable beast chuckles, blood gushing from its mouth, before going limp in the elf's grasp. Legolas releases his hold on the creature's neck, only to pry something out from its stiff fingers. A gleaming necklace, crafted from the finest of crystal and silver. The Evenstar.

Horrorstruck, Legolas rushes to the cliff edge, where Theoden already stands. They remain there in silence, listening to the rush of the river far below them. A surviving horseman bustles up to the king. They exchange a few words, and the man rushes back towards where the rest of the villagers huddle some distance away. Legolas turns to look at Theoden, shock and anger evident in his gaze. The king simple places a hand on his shoulder and mutters, "Come," before striding away.

"No," I whisper. "No, it can't be. Not Aragorn." I place my hand over my mouth, overwhelmed by the pain in my heart. "He can't be gone."

I don't remember getting up. I don't remember leaving Donovan's side and going to stand with him. All I know is the feeling of his body pressed against my own as I pull him into an embrace. The feeling of my tears soaking into his tunic, and the blood trickling down my leg in thick streams. Pain has overwhelmed us both, for we stand like that for what feels like an age, sharing one another's sorrows. Legolas holds me tightly, but gentle enough as to not aggravate the still-healing wounds on my back and shoulder. I press my face into the nape of his neck, taking pleasure in his warm, familiar smell.

We remain that way for quite some time before, wordlessly, I lean back to look him in the eye. "Do not doubt. Aragorn is strong. He could not have been felled so easily."

The Elf stares at me in silence before replying. "Hope is all we have left, Keira." Turning his gaze to the horizon, he clutches the Evenstar tightly. "It is all we have left."

Seeing him like this, hurting, drives me mad with grief. In Aragorn, I have lost a good friend and comrade, but Legolas… he has lost more. Legolas has been his friend since the Ranger was hardly a boy. And to loose someone so dear to you... there is no doubt that he is feeling what I felt weeks ago with Carca.

Eyes lowered, Legolas makes to leave. Much to my own surprise, I find myself taking his hand, preventing him from going any further. The Elf turns, his gaze soft and mellow as it meets with my own. Heart pounding, I step closer to him until our breaths are intermingled in the small space between us. All I see are blue eyes, like sapphires and amethysts bathed in moonlight. Tears glisten at their rims.

"Legolas," I say softly, "I'm sorry." A single tear rolls down my cheek as I press my forehead against his own, willing all his pain and suffering into myself. My fingers dig into his tunic, stiff with coiled sorrow. "I'm so, so sorry."

"This is not your doing," he whispers.

My heart yearns to fall back into his arms. To watch the rest of the world fade away while we two remain, bathed forever more in the light of the sun. To be away from conflict and to simply be normal, if only for a moment.

But it cannot be.

"Come on, then," says Gimli mournfulyl. "There's nothing left for us here."

With a final whisper of, "I'm sorry," I brush my lips against the Prince's cheek before stepping back. "You two go on ahead," I say. "I'll catch up with you."

"What's holding you back, lass?"

A knot forms in my throat. "My horse. He's… suffering."

The dwarf frowns, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Legolas tilt his head. "He seems quite fine to me," Gimli says. "A bit battered, albeit, but nothing that a good steed like himself can't handle."

If it weren't for a nudge at my hip, I dare say that I would never have believed Gimli at all. With a furrowed brow I turn around, and my eyes are met with a sight I did not expect.

Donovan.

Fresh tears blur my vision as I take in the sight of the horse. Gimli was right. He is battered. His dark fur is smeared with both the enemy's blood and his own, with cherry blossoms still sprouting from smaller, lesser wounds. The gash on his side has become clogged with red. His injuries are terrible, and a lesser horse might never have recovered from them. Yet here he stands, still fighting.

"Good lad," I say, smiling through my tears. Reaching out, I grip hold of his reins and stroke his nose. A rumble emanates deep within Donovan's throat. "Just a few more hours, and my strength will return. Then I can heal those battle scars of yours."

Gimli mutters something incomprehensible before trudging off towards the group. Looking back to Legolas, I allow myself a small smile. "Will you walk with me?"

Legolas steps to my side and, with slow, gentle fingers, slides his hand around my waist. I savor his touch, however brief, as we follow after the dwarf. Donovan plods beside me. Suddenly, pains stabs out from my injured thigh, and I stumble.

If Legolas hadn't been there to catch me, I fear I would have cracked my head open. "You're hurt," he says with a frown, gazing down at my leg.

"Oh, it's nothing re..."

Before I have a chance to finish, Legolas hooks his arms beneath my knees and back and sweeps me off the ground. I stare at him in disbelief, but The Elf simply clutches me tighter and continues to walk. I remain in a state of befuddlement for some time before reluctantly leaning my head against his shoulder.

"What now?" I ask.

He sighs deeply. "Now, we prepare."

I already know the answer before I ask, "For what?"

A hardness grows in his features, and Legolas glances back at the countless bodies littered about the landscape.

"For war."

* * *

><p>Keira!<p>

_His call rings out unanswered. Rage floods through his veins as he struggles against his bindings, slashing at them with his claws and teeth. Blood splatters from his sides as the sharp links cut deeper and deeper into his skin. Garbled laughter echoes from beyond his cell door._

_"She can't hear you, fool," the wizard says. "Your efforts are in vain."_

_He refuses to listen. He can't believe him... not with his sanity at stake. _

Keira, hear me!

Please, answer!

_At long last, his mind releases its hold on her faraway consciousness, and he collapses to the ground. Blood trickles out from his nose and mouth, and a single, crystal tear drips from his eye. In all his long years of life, never once has he shed a tear. Not even when he watched his own mother being slaughtered. He simply mourns. Like now, as he lies motionless on the cold, dark floor caked in his own blood, he mourns his kin. He mourns those whose lives have already been taken in the brutal war that dawns on the horizon. _

_But for her... a simple mourning could not do justice._

_For her-his rider, his bond, and his life-he weeps._

"Take care of yourself,"_ he wheezes aloud. _

"Take care of yourself when I'm gone."


	30. United

And so I return at long last! Hello again, loves! Enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

><p>They make to leave.<p>

_His ears perk as the mind voice of Valdra drifts down from above. Wind hisses over wings as the red Breyta bursts through the cloud cover like a fiery comet. Her claws scrape against the jagged cliff as she touches down beside him. The talons on her wings latch firmly into the stone, anchoring her in place. The she-wolf's deep emerald eyes are searching as they gaze into his own._

How many? _he inquires mentally, eyeing the dark tower on the horizon._

Well over 10,000, _she says. _Most are Urk-hai spawned in the deep pits. I fear their numbers are far greater than any I've seen. _His fur bristles with agitation, and Valdra pauses before continuing. _They will leave Orc workers behind to fortify Isenguard, but if we attack at nightfall, there's a chance we might get in unseen.

A chance, yes, but a slim one. _He shifts slightly, a part of him missing the feel of a Rider atop his back. They were new bonds, Kamira and he, having hardly been together a few months before hearing of Carca's peril. His Rider knew that he was the first choice to replace the Wererider's guardian, and that he desperately wanted to help his kin. It was difficult to have his bond taken from him, but the Wererider needed a protector. His brother needed a rescuer. He could not forsake them, not even for Kamira._

Do not dwell on her, Anca, _says she-wolf coolly. _Kamira can wait. Right now, your place is here with us. I would not have you forget that.

I don't plan to.

_Narrowing her eyes, Valdra swivels her head towards Bragol and Gwador, who cling to the rock crags beneath them. Their Riders converse in hushed whispers, but are soon silenced upon noting Valdra's soft growl. The light of the sunset glows a brilliant orange against her fur. She is a living flame, full of power and rage fervent to be let free. _

_When the she-wolf speaks, the world around her stands still._

"We will take to the skies at nightfall," _she says. _"The Orcs are preoccupied down in the pits, and I doubt there will be a great many within Orthanic itself. Anca and I will search for an entryway while Bragol and Ancelin cover us. Gwador, you and Averil will fly to the peak of the tower and keep watch. If you see anything out of the ordinary, you will report it immediately." _Valdra looks to the twins. _"Thalin, Thalias, you and your bonds will dispatch of any Orcs neighboring the tower that could give away our position. Make your kills as silent and stealthy as possible. If our cover is blown, we all are put at great risk."

"Keep your minds guarded," _he adds. _"Saruman may very well be able to listen in on our conversations. Refrain from mind-speech unless the need is dire."

_The others nod, accepting his terms as Valdra continues to plot out her strategy._

_And while he might appear to be listening, his thoughts have strayed far from the cold, dark cliffs and instead found their way back to the Wererider. She is too far away to make contact with, but near enough that he is able to feel the faint thrum of her consciousness. It is slightly weaker than last he checked, perhaps due to a recent fight or skirmish during her travels. Closing his eyes, he attempts to scry her, but his efforts earn him only snippets of her face. But though the images are blurred and unfocused due to the great distance separating them, he can tell she is smiling at someone. If only he could determine who. _

_Hardly content, he forces himself to return back to his physical form. It soon becomes apparent that the she-wolf's speech has long since finished, for the others have already taken flight. Their winged forms circle overhead like massive eagles._

_Valdra, however, remains fixed beside him. _

"How is she?" _Her voice is softer than he has ever heard it._

"I could only see glimpses, never a clear picture, but she appeared well enough."

_The she-wolf hums, a pleasant sound. _"Good. Now let us hope she remains that way until we return to her."

_He nods. Eyeing him carefully, Valdra flexes her wings in preparation to take flight. She pauses, however, upon noting the look of sorrow in his gaze._

"Have faith," _she whispers, brushing her wing against his. _"Be it life that awaits us or the shores of Valinor, we will fulfill our oath to the Wererider."

_Then, in a flurry of red and gold, they take to the skies._

* * *

><p>"Hold still, Donovan. This is difficult enough without your squirming!"<p>

The horse squeals in panic as I run my hands down his side, tracing a path along the edges of his wound. The flickering light of the campfire would hardly be enough for any proper healer to work by, but then again, magic is no regular utensil. One does not need light in order to use it, nor does one have to be a skilled physician in order to master its healing properties. It takes great strength and concentration to bind together torn flesh, and a terrible injury such as Donovan's will demand all I can muster.

I lean forward to further inspect his injury, only to wince as the horse seizes up in pain. His coarse fur pricks at my skin as he heaves in a labored breath. Panic glitters in his eyes.

"Legolas." My voice rings into the night silence. "Could you do something for me?"

"Of course," comes a gentle reply. Browning grass crackles as the elf crouches down beside me. "What is it you need?"

"See if you can calm him. I can't bear to see him suffer while I… work."

Nodding his agreement, Legolas paces over to where Donovan's head lay atop my crumpled bedroll. The Elf kneels down beside him and places a hand on the horse's cheek. Before Donovan can so much as flinch, Legolas's smooth voice curls into the form of an Elvish chant. His words are beautiful, full of peace and serenity and everything calm. Almost instantly, Donovan relaxes. His thick eyelids droop lower and lower with every passing second.

Now, I am able to start working.

I whisper a spell, careful not to disrupt the effect of Legolas's own magic. The skin on my palms takes on a mellow glow as a golden orb manifests before me. Unlike previous incantations of mine, this magic is not destructive, nor does it resemble any of my usual spells. Healing magic always appears gold, not red or blue like other forms, for it cannot be used harm anyone but its user. One must be strong in both mind and body in order to house such power.

Setting my jaw, I cup my hands around the orb and maneuver it overtop Donovan's wound. As soon as the light touches his mangled flesh, the orb shatters into hundreds of miniscule threads that delve into the horse's body. My palms spark with platinum light as the healing process commences. The magic within them, once so warm and comforting, now burns as bright as the sun. I squeeze my eyes shut for fear of being blinded by the glare. Searing pain rips through my body as I struggle to keep the magic under control. Though I can no longer see, a part of me knows that Donovan's injury has already begun to heal. My hands curl into fists so tight that my fingernails dig into my skin, sending warm currents trickling down my forearms.

The immense power of the magic pries at my mind with frightening intensity. It takes every ounce of my strength not to let go, for I know that giving in would be at the cost of my life.

"Keira."

A voice echoes out in the darkness.

"Keira, you're shaking."

An image of Legolas flashes before me, but I force myself to ignore it. I must focus; I have to, for Donovan's sake. My eyelids glow a bright cranberry, as if I were seeing things from behind a veil of blood. But I'm so close now. I can sense his wound is almost healed, that my work has almost been completed.

And then it is over.

Reality slams into me with spiteful force as I open my eyes, momentarily dazed by the light emanating before me. Beneath my trembling hands, Donovan's wound has been fully repaired, leaving naught but a pale scar that snakes beneath his fur. Now, it is my own self that is the most at risk.

The pain has grown fiercer now that the magic has left me. Bloody tears dribble from the corners of my eyes, and I claw at my scalp in an effort to remain conscious.

When it becomes too much for me to bear, I let out a wail and double over.

"Keira!" Legolas cries.

"I'm… alright," I manage to wheeze out. "Just… leave me be." Sporadic convulsions rack my body as I tuck my knees against my chest, hands clenched around fistfuls of my own hair.

For several long, terrible minutes I remain motionless, reluctant to move in fear of causing further injury to myself. Legolas remains at my side throughout the ordeal, no longer whispering his chant to Donovan, but to me instead. Listening to his voice is bliss compared to the torture that tears at my insides. Without him here with me, I'm not sure if I could consciously have made it through.

Time passes, and eventually, so does the pain. Soon it is no more than a dull ache in the back of my head. Slowly, tentatively, I rise up from my huddled state and turn to face Legolas.

"Thank you," I say in a cracked voice.

"Keira," he whispers. "You told me you could heal him. You didn't say what it would do to you. If I had known, I would not have agreed to this."

A hoarse laugh scrapes out of my throat. "I'd say things went rather smoothly." His face contorts in horror, and I laugh again. "There is more to me than meets the eye, Prince. Surely you must know that by now." I look down at Donovan, who appears to have fallen into a sort of trance. "Wake him, would you? I want my patient to see what I've accomplished."

Legolas frowns at me. "I do not appreciate your deceit, Keira."

"If you were in my shoes, and it were Arod that was injured, would you not have done the same?"

To that he can make no reply. Silently, the Elf leans forward and runs two fingers down the bridge of Donovan's nose. The horse wakes with a start, snorting as he blinks in confusion. A tremor shudders down his length.

"Easy now," I say. "You have nothing to fear. You're healed."

I rise to my feet, and Legolas does the same. Together we step back to allow Donovan to stagger to his feet. Slowly, and somewhat unsteadily, the horse manages to right himself. Once his balance has been regained, he looks back at his healed injury. His ears perk, and a smile flickers across my lips as I step closer to him. The horse nickers quietly before turning towards me. His gaze speaks to me as well as any voice.

_Thank you._

I run my fingers through his mane. "No creature deserves to feel such pain. Least of all you."

Loud footsteps echo behind me. Frowning, I look over my shoulder to see Gimli making his way over to us. His fiery beard is in a terrible disarray from the battle several hours prior.

"Impressive work, lass."

"You flatter me, Master dwarf. I am hardly worthy of your praise." The dwarf mutters something under his breath and shuffles in an attempt to conceal a blush. Grinning, I swivel my head towards Legolas. "Thank you for your help. I could not have done this without you."

"You are most welcome." The Elf nods towards Donovan. "Allow me to look after him for the night. You need your rest."

"That would be wonderful. Thank you again, Legolas." I place a hand on his cheek, savoring the warmth of his skin against my palm, before striding over to gather my bedding. Behind me, I hear Gimli chuckle.

"What an odd one you are, lass. One moment you're splattering yourself in Orc blood, the next you're sweet talking Elves!"

"_Gimli!"_

"Well it's true!"

Shaking my head, I tuck the bedroll underneath my arm.

"On that note, sleep well, my friends. We have a long day ahead of us."

"That we do, lass." Gimli runs a hand along his beard. "That we do."

* * *

><p>"At last, Helm's Deep!"<p>

The sharp cry arises from up over the crest of the hill. Donovan perks his ears at the distant voice.

"There it is, Helm's Deep! We're safe!"

My stomach twists as the woman's gleeful shouts find their way to my ears. Oh, to believe that a simple fortress could protect us from the reach of Saruman. Theodan is ignorant, terribly ignorant, of what he has set in motion. There is a bloodbath in our future, and it is one that can no longer be avoided. All we are left to do is wait for the enemy's inevitable offense to strike us.

"Oh, blessed Valar," I whisper. "How I wish you would guide me now."

"Keira." Legolas canters up next to me, blue eyes pinched in empathy. "I sense you are troubled. Come, let us ride ahead and see Helm's Deep for ourselves. Many others have already arrived."

"If that is what you wish." Heart heavy, I usher Donovan into a gallop. Arod lunges forward to match his gait, and together we make our way towards the crest of the hill. Upon reaching it, I find myself met with an impressive sight.

The fortress of Rohan is everything Theoden said it would be.

It sprouts out from the mountain as if it were lichen on a tree. Enormous stone walls arc around its perimeter while a single, towering pillar juts out from within its barriers. A large ramp snakes its way up into the fortress through a massive entry gate. Countless people make their way up the pathway, though at this distance they appear to be no more than slivers of black. All are refugees, no doubt, with a large portion being of our own group. Eowyn made sure to lead them to safety while the rest of us battled the Wargriders.

Another half-hour passes before we, too, are able to set foot in the massive sanctuary. The clatter of hooves and boots rules the air as townspeople make their way up the ramp. The rest of us trickle in after them, with Legolas, Gimli and myself riding some distance behind Theoden. All appear captivated by the fortress, and some seem to be on the verge of tears.

Donovan nickers uneasily as villagers swarm past him, eager to seek shelter within the dark walls. One man rams into his shoulder, causing the horse to stumble. Even Arod seems a bit irritated as Legolas attempts to guide him through the swarm.

When at last we make it through the gates, I find myself wishing never to be in a crowd again. There is far too much shouting and shoving. But much to my gratitude, the villagers seem to disperse a bit once we're inside, giving Donovan a clear passage. The horse tosses his mane, relief clear in his gait as he canters down the cobblestone path.

Several soldiers greet us upon entry, their faces blurring by so quickly that I am unable to respond. Theoden leads us at a swift pace, and it would be most unfortunate to lose sight of him now, what with all the people roaming about.

"Make way for the king!" cries Gamling, riding up alongside him. "Make way for Theoden! Make way for the king!"

An audible murmur ripples through the crowd. Women and children cry out in glee at their King's return, while the men bow in reverence. We ride on for a short distance longer before stopping in the center of a wide clearing. Donovan swings his head round so that he gazes at me with a single brown eye. I pat his neck.

"The worst part's over," I say, sliding down from the saddle. Shortly after, I find my gaze drawn towards a blond figure making her way through the crowd. Eowyn. Her brown dress is speckled with dust, and her curly hair spirals freely past her shoulders.

"So few," the woman says, approaching Theoden as he dismounts. "So few of you have returned."

"Our people are safe," the King says. "We have paid for it with many lives."

Legolas helps Gimli down from Arod. The dwarf tugs at his beard before greeting the woman. "My lady."

It is then that Eowyn says the name we'd all been dreading to hear spoken. "Lord Aragorn… where is he?"

Silence falls momentarily, and Gimli fumbles for words before replying. "He fell."

A knot forms in my throat as Eowyn's gaze flickers to Legolas, then to me, before finally settling on her uncle. Theoden gazes back at her through mournful eyes before striding off with Gamling at his side.

Dumbfounded, Eowyn fixates her gaze on his retreating form. "Is it true?" she whispers vaguely.

I grimace at the pain in her voice. "We have not given up hope, my lady. He might yet be alive." My words bring her little comfort. She is not a fool. She knows that his survival would be unlikely. Heart heavy, I dip my head. "I am sorry. There was nothing that could be done."

Eowyn looks at me, her eyes wide and filled with horror. "I… thank you, for telling me." Wordlessly, she turns her back to us and melts into the throng of people. I watch her go, unsure if it was something that I said, or simply her emotions taking hold of her.

"Come, my friends," I say eventually. "There is work to be done, and very little time to do it."

* * *

><p>The remainder of the day is spent down in the underbelly of Helm's Deep. The women and children are settled into the dank, dreary caves while the men work to distribute food and forge weaponry. I kept myself busy by sharpening swords and sparing with soldiers, but after my arms became too sore to continue, I chose to tend to the horses, who had become skittish at the thought of being kept underground. Many are housed in the stables beneath the fortress's main tower, but some were given an exception. Arod, Donovan, and Theoden's horse, Snowmane, all remain in a large cavernous area within the inner gates.<p>

I am in the process of mending a slight gash on Arod's foreleg when I am once again approached by Eowyn. Her entrance is silent. In fact, if it weren't for her shadow being cast over me, I might not have noticed her at all. The swatch of darkness sweeps over the dying rays of sunlight I have found myself working by. Sighing, I tie off the horse's binding and cut away the excess with one of my longknives.

"What do you need, m'lady?" I inquire, not bothering to look at her.

"A simple answer. Nothing more."

"Of what nature? If this is about Aragorn, I'm afraid that I might not have much to—"

"Who is Carca?"

My steady hands falter, and the longknife slips from my grasp. The freshly-sharpened blade slices a red line into my palm before clattering to the ground, its edge stained crimson. I gasp softly.

Eowyn's eyes reflect my own shock as I look up at her, blood trickling down my wrist. "Where did you hear that name?"

"I—I've heard you," she stammers. Blinking rapidly, the woman reaches down and pulls a thin ribbon of cloth from her dress pocket. She then gestures to my hand. "May I?"

I nod before continuing. "What do you mean you've heard me?"

Pursing her lips, Eowyn kneels down and begins to wrap the wound. "Sometimes during the night, I'll hear you calling for him. Who is he?"

"He… he's my friend," I say stiffly. "I haven't seen him in quite a long time."

"Why is that?"

"The Uruks took him."

A bitter silence surrounds us as Eowyn struggles to form a reply. "I'm sorry, my lady. I should not have asked."

"Don't apologize," I say, "I enjoy talking about him. He wouldn't want me brooding over the past."

"I see." Eowyn pauses for a moment. "Is he an elf like you?"

"No."

She frowns. "A human, then?"

I shake my head, which seems only to puzzle the woman further.

"Then if you don't mind me asking, what is he?"

A part of me wishes to tell her. To spill my all secrets and allow Eowyn to see me for what I truly am. I long to tell her of all my wonderful adventures with Carca. I want her to see the face behind the mask, bare of the lies and trickery.

But I cannot give her the answer she seeks, and thus, my reply is kept terribly and painfully short.

"In all the ages of the earth, there has never been, nor shall there ever be anything quite like him."

Eowyn releases my now-bandaged hand and rises to her feet. "How very puzzling you are, Lady Keira. It seems I shall never know you like your companions do."

"I'm afraid there isn't much to left to tell of myself."

"Of course." Eowyn turns and paces back towards the outer gates. "The night approaches. Perhaps you should consider joining the others down in the cavern?"

"Maybe later. I'm afraid that sleep does not grace me as it once did." I wave her on. "Don't fret over me. Your people will be wondering where you are. Have a good night, my lady."

"Goodnight, Keira."

Eowyn smiles briefly and slips through the gates, but not before whispering something else. The voice in which she speaks is so quiet, so slight, that even my elven ears are forced to strain to make it out.

"I hope he returns."

I will never know who she spoke of; Aragorn, or Carca.

* * *

><p>That night, I find myself standing alone on the high tower, looking out at the land beyond. A full moon shines in the sky, bathing the stone in silver light. Countless stars twinkle alongside it as I lean up against the wall, admiring the view before me. In the far distance, a solitary shape glides within the clouds. An eagle, hunting beneath the cover of midnight. The creature gives a faraway cry as it melts away into the darkness, only to reappear several moments later.<p>

After a long few minutes, I allow my mind to stretch out beyond my physical form in order to meld with the eagle's. The bird's consciousness shudders at my phantom touch, but soon I am able to speak to it without resistance.

_Beast of the skies, hear my plea. Lend me your eyes and allow me to see._

The eagle abides instantly. It empties its thoughts, allowing me to consume its body with my own mind. Suddenly, I find myself soaring on wings that are not my own. I feel the wind ruffling through my feathers, and the cold gleam of the moon as it reflects off of my talons. As I sail up and over the wind drafts, I delve deep into the eagle's memories. There are far too many to count. Each memory ranges from the hatching of an egg to a chick's first flight, from a clear sunny day to a crackling thunderstorm. For many minutes I sift through its mind until I find what it is I seek. The eagle flew over Orthanic not long before nightfall, giving me a clear image of Saruman's army as it floods out onto the plains. Sharp eyes flick about the various Uruks before turning their focus to five shapes that shuffle on the cliff neighboring the tower. My heart lurches as I take in the forms of Anca and his four warriors. Their sharp eyes gleam red and gold as they survey the army.

_They must be preparing to attack by now._

I whisper a silent thanks to the eagle before exiting its mind and returning to my own body. Drained from the experience, I prop my elbows against the stone and bow my head.

"Oh, Carca," I say aloud. "I know you can't hear me. I know you can't listen to my mind as you once did. But my heart still beats with yours. Every moment, every whisper, every breath is an agony, for I am not able to share them with you. I should be there. I should be going through your pain as if it were my own. But alas, our paths cannot be shared during this battle. I must fight alone." A tear slips past my eyelashes and drips down onto my clenched hands. "Why didn't I stay with you? Why did I think that I could save Boromir? His fate was sealed, and I knew it. But yours…" My voice breaks. A second tear comes, and then another. Sobs rack my body in terrible waves, and my legs crumple beneath me as I collapse onto the stone. The shadows cast by the wall embrace me with open arms, concealing my broken form as I weep.

"Bring him back, Anca." I press my forehead against my knees. "Please bring him back."

A long stretch of time passes before I am discovered. Legolas calls for me as he ascends the tower steps, but I cannot bring myself to respond. I don't want him to see me like this, so close to breaking. A warrior should be strong and level-headed. Never faltering, never giving in to her emotions. What have I become, that I have allowed myself to fall so far?

"Mellon nin." Legolas's soft voice drifts to my ears. Wiping away my tears, I force myself to look up at him. The Elf is garbed in a midnight cloak, with the hood drawn back to reveal his face. Moonlight glints off his platinum hair as he kneels down before me. His blue eyes are soft with knowing.

"Forgive me," I mutter, "I should not allow myself to be seen like this."

"Do not say that. Even the bravest of us must grieve."

"But not now." I frown bitterly. "Not before the battle that looms on the horizon. I have to be strong… if not for myself, than for the Fellowship. For us."

"Oh, Keira…"

Without another word, Legolas drapes his cloak over my shoulders and pulls me into him. Initially, I am resistant to his sympathy. My body becomes rigid with tension, and my eyes go wide with panic. What if someone were to come across us? What would they think?

My thoughts are reduced to dust, however, when Legolas takes to running his fingers through my tangled hair. The sensation lulls me into a state of peace, and I curl against him, knees folded beneath me. The fabric of his tunic is soft and warm against my chilled skin. A sigh escapes me as I breathe in his familiar woodland scent.

"I still remember the day you were taken."

Legolas's statement catches me off guard. Frowning, I angle my head to look at him. "What do you speak of?"

"When the wolves attacked at the border of Mirkwood. I still remember the anguish I felt as I watched Carca carry you away. I had no idea where he was taking you, or if I would ever see you again. I felt my life leaving me, but I did not notice the blood or the pain. How could I? I had just lost the one thing that mattered most to me, and there was nothing I could do to bring her back." He sighs. "Then it was over. Darkness swelled around me, but I remember hearing your voice. You were singing to me." I marvel at the smile that draws at his lips. "It was a beautiful song, but I could not tell you so. My body was a dungeon. I couldn't move, couldn't see. I couldn't even try to speak. But I could listen. I listened and prayed that my gratitude would show through my silence." He pauses, his smile fading. "And then you left. As swift as the night itself."

Regret knaws at my insides. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. My hand snakes up to his shoulder, pulling me closer to him. "If I could go back and change it, I would."

Legolas shakes his head. "No. You did the right thing."

"Then why do you make it sound like I was wrong?"

The Elf gazes down at me, his eyes filled with hurt and sorrow. "I am not oblivious, Keira. You sold yourself so that I could live. You… _condemned _your own soul to a life of eternal solitude. I cannot comprehend a decision such as that."

I lean back, allowing my eyes to bore into his. "If you were in my shoes, would you have done any different? I would have laid down my life for you, if that were the price."

My words hit him hard. His eyes twinkle, and I feel his arm tighten around me. "You are a marvelous woman, Keira. Let your heart never change."

A knot forms in my throat as I struggle against my rising emotions. Legolas has always been my friend, and that friendship means everything to me. Yet I find myself wanting more. _Needing _more. I want to have him by my side for the rest of my life, with no sacred code to stand between us. But more than anything, I just want Legolas. As a friend, as a companion. As my heart.

"That girl you found wandering the forest," I start. Legolas swivels his head to look at me. Heart pounding, I force myself to continue. "She was lost, Legolas. And you were the one who found her. You were there for her when she had no one. You saved her when no one else would." Heavy emotion leeches into my voice, and I dip my head before meeting his gaze again. "That strange, wayward girl who could barely say your name without fumbling over her own words…She loved you. Very much." I pause, gathering my courage. "It was foolish, of course. You were an Elf. You could never desire to be with a mortal such as her. Yet still she dreamt that you would one day look upon her with the same passion as she did you." I smile humorlessly. "What a strange fate it is that her love has yet to die."

A long, stunned silence follows my words. Then, Legolas speaks.

"I care for you, Keira. You know I do. But I cannot allow you to break the oath you were sworn to keep."

My heart aches at his words. "I know. I… I needed to tell you. These past months have been almost too difficult to bear. Having you so close, but never close enough." My features contort in a pain that Legolas mirrors. "I thought I could do this, but I can't."

A frown tugs at his brow. "If I am such a distraction for you, than perhaps we should refrain from speaking so often—"

"No!" Legolas recoils at my powerful tone. Tears threaten to trickle from my eyelashes, and I shake my head. "Legolas—_Prince_—it is agony to be kept from you."

"Mellon nin, you know not what you ask…"

"I am asking nothing." Bleary eyed, I reach up to place a hand on his cheek. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, Legolas. Being the Wererider is my burden to bear, but I cannot…" My voice cracks, and I glance downwards in an attempt to conceal my shame. "I live, but I do not feel alive. This weight on my shoulders, it… I'm not sure I can bear it alone."

"You have Carca. He helps you, does he not?"

"That's different," I say. "Carca is my bond. He will always be special to me. But even when I'm with him, a part of me still feels empty. That emptiness has started to swallow me whole."

"What are you trying to say, Keira?"

I sigh shakily. "I'm saying that I need you, Legolas. Not just as a friend, but as something more."

Legolas's confused expression quickly morphs into one of anger. "You would forsake everything you have worked for? Betray all those you have claimed to lead to victory? All because you feel something for me?" If that is the case, then I have misjudged you terribly."

"I am a _prisoner!"_

My sharp cry silences him abruptly. The fire in his eyes dies down to embers, replaced instead by the cool glow of sympathy.

"You cannot pretend to understand what being the Wererider is like," I hiss. "It is not like being a Prince or a Captain or head of the Elven Guard. I am bound to the code. I am a slave, not a leader. Everything I say not only affects my Riders, but everyone around us." A tear trickles down onto my lips. "I am tired, Legolas. My face may not wrinkle, and my body may not wither, but my soul is so very weak."

The Elf remains silent for a few moments before replying. "Forsaking the code cannot be the answer. We agreed in months past that our feelings for each other would never exceed the boundaries of friendship."

I rise up onto my knees, allowing our eyes to be level with each other. "But did we truly mean what we said?" The desperate, romantic part of me wishes to spill out all my love for him right then, but I know the time has not yet come. Instead, I settle for placing my hand over top his own. "There is blood on the horizon, Legolas. But if we are to die tomorrow, let us die knowing that we have each other."

"And if we live?"

A smile curls at my lips. "Only time will tell."

Legolas sighs deeply. "Keira, you do not understand… I am not like you. I do not have human blood flowing through my veins. I am an Elf, and Elves cannot give theirs hearts away so freely." He leans in closer, bringing a hand up to caress my cheek. "If I were to pledge myself to you, there would be no going back. When an Elf chooses to love someone, that love is eternal. No matter how your feelings for me may change, my adoration for you would be forever unwavering." His eyes sparkle with sorrow. "I cannot do that to you. What of Carca? What of the promise you made to him? Loving me is not worth breaking your sacred code."

More tears leak out of the corner of my eye. "I want to be with you, Legolas. More than anything."

"You swore an oath, Keira. I will not let you break it."

"You don't have to."

And I close my eyes and kiss him.

I am slow at first, tentative of what his response might be. But there is no tension in Legolas. Not so much as a hint of reluctance. His lips are soft and welcoming as they meld against my own. He places a hand beneath my chin, cupping my face as I wrap my arms around his neck. We are of one body now. Our breaths are shared as my mouth moves with his, savoring the taste of him. A long stretch of time passes before I am forced to catch my breath. Our noses brush as I pant against his face, struggling to regain my composure before beginning again.

But this time, I am not the one in control.

Legolas's mouth slams into mine, our lips igniting like flames bursting into a wildfire. Heat sears at the back of my throat as I am overcome by the taste of his breath, and the feeling of our bodies intertwined together. His hand presses against the small of my back, pulling me closer to him as our kiss deepens.

_"__You can never be allowed to love."_

An image of Celeb flashes before my eyes.

_"__Your heart is with us now, and no other."_

Sapphire eyes, bright with bloodlust.

_ "__Do not defy the code." _

The flashbacks are like thorns driven into my sides, twisting in so deep that the pain is almost unbearable. Legolas knows. I'm sure he does, for when I gasp out in agony, his lips are there to silence me. I run my fingers through his hair, down his face, over the points of his angular ears. Every inch of him is mine, and I wish to make that known.

"Keira," Legolas whispers against my cheek. He leans back to look at me, eyes alight with passion. "You have forsaken everything to be with me, and thus I can be silent no longer. If it is your will, I swear to love you without falter for all the years of your life. You will never feel alone again."

I press my forehead against his own. "I promise to keep you by my side until the end of time itself, even should the stars fall from the heavens,"

He kisses my cheek. "Until the end, melleth nin."

My eyelashes flutter against his. "Until the end."

Together, we look to the night sky, and I am captivated by its spectacle. The constellation of Remmirath, the Netted Stars, glows faintly in the East, while Earendil gleams ever-present in the Western sky. Valacirca is too far North for me to see it as I once did in the Rider's Cave. Instead, it is Menelmacar that gazes down upon us, his starry sword twinkling against the cobalt night.

"The battle draws close now," I say. "I have the most dreadful feeling. Like the entire world is about to come crashing down upon us." Legolas rubs my shoulder soothingly, and I close my eyes. "An eagle lent me its memories. I saw the Uruks flooding out of Isenguard, and at the rate they're travelling, they will be here by nightfall tomorrow."

Legolas growls softly. "Theoden will not listen if you tell him what you've seen. You dare not give away the full extent of your powers. We can only prepare for the worst and hope that is enough."

I nod stiffly, then say, "It's terrible having to cage my powers around so many people. There are many times that I've wanted to reveal myself. Perhaps it would give the people hope, if nothing else."

"The risk of frightening them would be too great," he says. "The men must have level-heads if they are to fight properly. You must act like you're one of them."

"And what if something goes wrong?" I demand. "What if we are overrun? Do I unveil my true self and risk Theoden's wrath, or do I conceal it and let his men die?"

Legolas places his hand over top my own. "You must do what is right. Theoden is but a mortal man, and we would never allow him to hurt you. _I _would never allow it."

"It is not his anger that frightens me. It is the thought of losing a trust that we have all spent so much time trying to gain."

"The King would better respect a warrior that gives everything to save the people than an onlooker who stands by and watches as they're slaughtered."

Legolas's words stun me into a silence. Of course he is right. Theoden might be angered initially, but in the long run, he will learn to accept me for who I am. He might even appreciate what I've done for him. And when that time comes, I will serve him not as Keira the Outlander, but as Keira the Wererider.

"Yes," I say with finality. "Yes, you're right. It would be cruel and selfish to do nothing."

"Then you will reveal yourself?"

"If the need is dire, I shall."

* * *

><p>The battle is coming, but it is dust in the wind compared to the war being raged within my heart. Legolas is a part of me now. I have given away a piece of myself that can never be taken back. Carca will be furious. My Riders will feel betrayed. And they should. I have broken the pact. Torn the seal. Rent the very aspect of my oath in half.<p>

But now, as I lay beneath the stars, listening to the rhythmic beat of Legolas's heart, I would not trade this love for the world.

* * *

><p><strong>Dearest readers, it feels so good to update again! So sorry for the outrageous wait... Busy schedules are not kind to writers such as myself. But soon enough, we will be nearing the end of our journey together. The next chapter will detail the Battle at Helm's Deep, while the rest will be concentrating on the final war against Sauron himself. So hold on tight, because even though I don't know when the next update will come, the following chapter is going to be very high-paced. <strong>

**Also, THE KISS! Lord knows how much time I've spent writing and rewriting that scene to make it fit. I hope you all enjoyed it! **

**Now I recommend savoring this actual non-cliffhangerish-chapter while you can, because I'm afraid they won't come often. ;)**

**xxx**

**-PC**


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